Grips
by One Small Monkey
Summary: The death of the Shredder affects a lot of people, but perhaps nobody as much as Rocksteady. Currently undergoing editing.
1. I

AUTHOR'S NOTES

If you've read my story "Mainstreaming", this story is a direct result from that one. I was about halfway through when I decided I needed to at least mention Bebop and Rocksteady. So after some thought, I figured out how to put them into the story, and put in a bit of back story for them as well. But surprisingly, I grew really attached to this little subplot, and thought it deserved to be told completely, as a whole story. I decided to put "Mainstreaming" on hold, and concentrate on this one, instead...and I'm glad I did. It was a refreshing change to write from Rocksteady's point of view, and it was fun to flesh out a character that had basically been "that dumb strong mutant" up until now. This may not be my most popular story, but I have a definite soft spot for it, and I'm very happy with the way it turned out. The turtles don't even show up much until Chapter Six - by necessity. And, to paraphrase Monty Python, if you enjoy reading it even half as much as I did writing it, well then, I enjoyed it twice as much as you.

* * *

Rain isn't unheard of in New York City in the spring, but nobody but the oldest residents could remember getting quite this much. To Rocksteady, it was just another messed-up component of this already messed-up part of his severely messed-up life. He sighed, and watched the city lights zoom by through the haze of the downpour. It was a sure sign he was distracted - he hardly noticed Bebop's typically haphazard driving. Only when the van slipped into an alley and slammed into a dumpster did he raise his head. He considered yelling at Bebop, as usual, but decided it wasn't worth the effort. Glancing out the window, he realized that there was no way he could squeeze out the passenger door; there was a brick wall about two inches from the window. So he leapt up and made his way to the back door. After opening it up, he ran through the rain to the warehouse door, with Bebop following. Rocksteady examined the lock on the door and grinned - he'd broken this type before. He grabbed it and yanked down with all his might, but his hand simply slipped off. 

"Durnit," he muttered. Turning to Bebop, he said, "Gimme a rag or sumthin'."

Bebop glanced around, then picked up an old rag and held it up. Rocksteady grabbed it, but almost immediately tossed it away.

"Dat's no good."

"How come?"

"Cuz it's all greasy is hows come! I need sumthin' to dry off this lock, and dat'll just make it slipp'rier!"

Bebop snorted, but resumed his search. After poking around a bit, he came up with an old sock - it was dirty and ripped, but it was dry. Eagerly, Rocksteady grabbed it, wiped the lock with it, then wiped his hands on it as well. Tossing the sock away, he again swallowed the lock into his oversized palm and pulled downward. The lock broke into several pieces, and he let them fall to the ground. Bebop stepped up and helped him raise the warehouse door.

They walked into the abandoned building, shaking and wiping the rain off their faces. Bebop felt along the inside wall until he found a switch. He flicked it a few times, with no result. Snorting, he began cautiously making his way towards the opposite side, while Rocksteady simply danced from foot to foot, looking around. It wasn't a very large warehouse - it had only been used by the Foot as a sort of staging area for stolen and otherwise sketchy goods. As the Foot fell apart, it had fallen into disuse, but fortunately, Rocksteady had remembered its location. A few of the metal shelves remained assembled, but most were piled up in pieces in the near corner. A small window up near the ceiling let in a trickle of light.

Bebop got to the opposite wall and found what he was looking for - a door to a bathroom. He walked inside, turned the sink on, and grinned as water came pouring out. After turning the faucet off, he found the light switch and tried it a few times.

"Hey," he said loudly as he made his way back to Rocksteady. "We got water, but no juice."

"No juice?" Rocksteady echoed. "How we gonna get by wit'out no power?"

"Relax - it's jus' f'r now. We'll be fine." Bebop yawned and stretched. "You ready to get th' stuff?"

Rocksteady considered. Honestly, he sort of wanted some time to himself. Things had been happening at an insane pace, and he really needed some time alone to get his head back together. Plus, the idea of going back out with Bebop in the van didn't really appeal to him.

"Um..." said Rocksteady, trying to think of a reason not to go back. "Mebbe one of us should stay here. Y'know - now that it's unlocked."

It was the lamest of excuses, and Bebop knew it. But he had seen how distracted Rocksteady had been. He knew better than to talk about it, though. "Yeah, OK," Bebop said. "I'll go get da stuff. C'n you kinda set up stuff in here?"

"Yeah," said Rocksteady, a bit too relieved. "Yeah, I c'n do that."

"Cool. See ya in a bit." Bebop shot Rocky a grin, then ran back out into the rain.

Rocksteady went to the door and watched the van peel out, backwards, back into the street. He shook his head, then shut the door. Turning around, he faced the empty warehouse and softly tapped his fists together. Letting himself relax a bit, he felt the thoughts well up in his head - the panicky ones that he kept forced down. "No," he said out loud, in an attempt to keep them at bay. "No no no. Not now. Gotta get this place ready." Lessee, he forced himself to think. No power. If we got no power, it's gonna get cold. So we gotta have a fire. And if we're gonna have a fire, we gotta have a place for the smoke to get out. He remembered a time, a year or so back, when he and some other Foot soldiers had smoked themselves out of an abandoned building by not taking such steps.

He slowly ambled through the warehouse, keeping his eyes glued to the ground. Finally, he came across the kind of thing he was looking for - a bolt. He picked it up and walked back to the window. Sticking his tongue out in concentration, he threw it up towards the window. It flew a bit wide of the mark, striking the wall with a loud clang that reverberated through the empty warehouse. Unperturbed, Rocksteady walked over and picked the bolt back up. Again he took aim and threw it at the window. This time, his aim was better, and the window broke with a surprisingly quiet tinkling sound. Rocksteady, greatly pleased, laughed out loud and shook his fist. Well, that's for the smoke, he thought. Now for something to burn.

Rocksteady tried to think of what would burn - paper, wood...wait! He spied a large stack of wooden pallets near the main door. Hey, perfect! He walked over and carried the entire stack back underneath the window. Using just his bare hands, he began wrenching them apart one by one, tossing the pieces into a pile beside him. Unbeknownst to him, he almost gave himself several pretty vicious splinters, but none of them could penetrate his extremely thick skin. After the pile got quite a bit smaller, Rocksteady stopped and gave it the once over. Hm - only six left. Maybe we could sleep on those. Better save em.

Sighing, Rocksteady climbed the stack of pallets and sat down in the center of them. Now that his work appeared to be done, the depressing thoughts began coming back. This time, he let them come, succumbing completely to self-pity.

Everything's gone kablooie, he thought.


	2. II

Rocksteady sighed. What had happened? It didn't seem that long ago that everything seemed so perfect.

Maybe it was just because things had been heading up for Robbie for so long. He was a big kid in school, but always felt too clumsy, too oafish to participate in sports. After three years of just "thinking about it", of wondering if he could handle the expected rejection, he finally tried out for the varsity football team. To his surprise, he not only made the cut, but became a starting lineman. He learned something about himself during the season - he really liked slamming his opponents. Between practices and games, he worked off a lot of built-up tension at the expense of blockers and ball-carriers. As if that weren't enough, suddenly, other students started taking an interest in him. People smiled at him in the halls, and he found himself with a date every weekend. For the first time, the big gawky teenager was becoming a respected part of the school.

Eventually, though, the football season came to an end, and with it came Robbie's newfound popularity. Sure, they all still said "hi" in the halls, but he wasn't getting the dates he had in the autumn. As the weeks went on, and the social calendar dried up, Robbie looked for a way to get back to where he was. He thought about trying out for the wrestling team, but that didn't have the same appeal. It seemed so...slow. Lame. None of the bone-crushing slams he loved executing in football. And his one good year of varsity football wasn't going to be enough to get any college interested, so it looked like his football career was already over. Feeling more and more despondent, he let his grades slide, and they weren't exactly all that great to begin with.

Even in his depressed state, Robbie knew he'd better get a job - every high schooler needs spending money. After a bit of searching, he managed to land one at the sub shop down the street. Robbie wasn't exactly a model employee, but frankly neither was anyone else there. Famous Subs seemed to be the place to go if you didn't want your sandwich in a hurry. Robbie wasn't that crazy about the job. The boss was always telling him he had to be nicer to customers, and Robbie was getting really tired of hearing "if you've got time to lean, you've got time to clean". But there was a bright spot there - this guy James, who had already been working at Famous Subs for six months when Robbie came aboard. James had this easy-going way about him that Robbie really liked. He seemed like he could get along with pretty much everybody, and even Robbie, who was normally a loner, found himself warming up to him. As time went on, Robbie found out that James was a member of a small neighborhood gang called the Uptown DKs. One day after work, James invited Robbie to come hang out with them. Robbie was hesitant - he didn't think he wanted to get tangled up in anything like that. But James was persuasive, Robbie took a quick liking to them, and by the end of the month, Robbie was a DK too. He didn't much care about the petty squabbles the DKs would have with rival gangs. He never quite understood what it was about, and who was getting revenge for what this week. What he did understand was the fighting, and that's what got Robbie hooked. About once a week, the DKs would find some reason to go up against another group, and Robbie was there, fists at the ready. It wasn't quite the same as football, but to be honest, Robbie thought he liked this better.

Robbie's mother didn't know exactly what was going on, but she did know he was falling in with an unsavory crowd. She took to yelling at him about it quite a bit. She said that his new friends were bad news who would ruin his life, and someday he'd regret taking up with them.

Calling back over the years, Rocksteady thought, you were right, Ma. They were. I do.

A couple months later, both James and Robbie began hearing about a new gang in the area - the Foot. Robbie at first figured this would be a good opportunity to get some head-bashing in, once the Foot made their move against the DKs. But then a co-worker told them more about it. The Foot wasn't just a group of bored teens looking for stuff to do. This was something else entirely. The Foot had their fingers in all sorts of things, but the bulk of their activities seemed to involve stolen merchandise and protection rackets. It was this last bit that appealed to Robbie - beating up guys, for money! He and James immediately quit the DKs and set about trying to get into the Foot.

To their surprise, both of them were accepted in without much hassle. Robbie was sure there'd be some sort of initiation, a test of nerve or some such. But instead, they were told that a few others had vouched for them, and they could enter. Foot soldiers were required to live on base, so, under the cover of darkness, Robbie went home, got his things, and left without a backward glance.

Once he returned, he was told he wouldn't have to do anything at first - simply watch, listen and learn. He was a bit peeved to find out he had to share his room, and even more peeved to find out he wouldn't be rooming with James. Instead, he ended up with this weird punker with a pink mohawk, with the unlikely name of "Bob". Robbie wasn't fond of the arrangement, but Bob ended up being really cool, and by the end of the week, he was closer to Bob than he'd ever been to James.

Robbie no longer had to worry about work, school, or his ma, and he thought that that would be heaven on earth. After a bit, though, he began to get itchy. Playing computer games with Bob was fun, but he couldn't do it 24/7, so out of boredom (not so much because it was suggested to him), he began watching the other Foot members. There were a couple newbies like himself, but most of the Foot wore black outfits, and some wore masks when they went out on their assignments at night. The entire operation was like a well-oiled machine. Everyone seemed to have something to do, and it was obvious a lot was getting done. Tons of merchandise came through the base - some of it was given to the Foot members, but most was taken away to be...well, Robbie wasn't sure. Probably sold somewhere. Robbie learned quick that, as a Foot soldier, he was supposed to do exactly what he was told to, and not ask any questions. So he simply shrugged. The Foot knew what they were doing. As long as he was treated well, why should he care?

Robbie guessed the leader of the Foot was a guy named Jutaro. He was bald and rather short, and seemed somewhat out of place wearing his black kimono. The other foot soldiers set him straight, though.

"Dude, don't go thinking you can get away with nothing on Jutaro's watch," said one. "One guy tried to pull something on him, and Jutaro had his on the floor with a bloody face in, like, ten seconds."

"So, he's the guy in charge?"

"Well, sorta," she said. "He's the one that tells people what to do most of the time. But the big boss here is the Shredder."

"The Shredder?" said Robbie, trying not to laugh. "Don't think I met him."

"You'd know if you did. Usually he's not here. He only shows up when things go wrong. Trust me - you don't wanna meet him if you can help it."

Another Foot soldier chimed in. "You know it. Big mean guy, wears a metal mask and cape, and has blades all over his arms."

Robbie couldn't help laughing. This sounded like a comic book character. "What? You kidding?"

The Foot soldiers looked at him severely. "You better not let anyone hear you laughing at him," said one. "If it gets back to him, you may as well find a comfortable place to lie down, 'cause he'll cut you up and leave you in pieces."

Robbie still thought they might be kidding, but their eyes told him they weren't. Well, OK, then. The guy in charge was psycho. Robbie decided that didn't matter. He was obviously crazy like a fox if everything worked this smooth, and since he was never around, it wouldn't matter anyway. He'd just be sure to be extra-nice if and when he did show up.

Days passed, but before Robbie truly had a chance to get completely bored, he and Bob were summoned by Jutaro. The time had come for them to get their first assignment. Jutaro told them the name of their target, and the store they would find him in. They were told simply that this man needed "persuasion". From hanging around the other Foot soldiers, both Robbie and Bob knew that meant "mess him up, but don't put his life in danger". Robbie and Bob headed to the basement, where they were at last given uniforms, complete with masks. Once they had suited up, a third Foot soldier drove them to the store. Bob and Robbie sat in the back of the van, waiting for the store to empty out. When the final customer left, they went into action. They pulled open the door and headed straight for the back, not bothering to announce themselves. The man hardly had a chance to react. By the time he saw the two Foot soldiers coming, Bob had grabbed his head and slammed it into a display case. Robbie picked him up and slugged him in the gut, then caught him across the face with a right roundhouse punch. The man slumped to the floor, knocked out. Bob and Robbie looked at each other. They were both just getting warmed up, but they knew better than to take this too far. They shrugged, and headed back out to the van.

When they returned to the Foot HQ, the driver took them to Jutaro and praised their work highly. From then on, Bob and Robbie were a regular part of the "muscle". Two or three times a week, they were called upon to either "persuade" a target, or else "take one out" - wail on him enough to send them to the hospital. Robbie couldn't believe his luck. He had everything he wanted - a good friend, respect, and plenty of opportunities to smack people around. Life couldn't get any better.

Rocksteady ground his teeth, remembering what had happened. The day everything started going to hell.

Jutaro summoned all the muscle together, and announced that he had a special assignment for them. All of them were going to an old warehouse in another part of town. They were to wait in there in the dark, quietly, and this time, the targets would come to them. At that point, they were to beat them within an inch of their lives, and then drag them back to Foot HQ. Jutaro didn't tell them who the targets were. He just quizzically said, "You shall know them when you see them." As they made their way back to their rooms to prepare, there was an excited buzz among the Foot soldiers. This was something different, and promised to be interesting.

Later that night, Robbie sat against the inner wall of the abandoned warehouse. About fifty Foot soldiers made the trek out, all armed with bats, knives and chains. Robbie could make out Bob - partly because Bob was closest to him, and partly because his pink mohawk stuck out even in the darkest room - but the rest of the Foot were swallowed up into the vast darkness of the warehouse. Hearing the occasional sound from one of them, he wondered, why'd they send so many of us? If it's only a few guys, we shouldn't need more than five or ten, tops. Who are we going up against, anyway?

"Hey, Bob," he said as quietly as he could.

"Yeah?"

"Who you think the target is?"

Bob shrugged, then realized Robbie couldn't see the shrug. "Who knows?"

"Jutaro said we'll know 'em when we see 'em."

"Yeah."

"So what do you think that means? What are they gonna look like?"

"I dunno." Bob thought for a second. "Maybe they're just really fat or somethin'."

Robbie mulled that over, then shook his head. "Nah, they can't be fat. Otherwise, any two of us could take 'em out."

"Hm." Bob spun his baseball bat in his hands and thought for a minute. "Maybe they're aliens."

"What?"

"Y'know - aliens. Small naked grey guys with them big black eyes."

Robbie tried not to laugh too loud. "Why would the Foot want to beat up aliens?"

"'cause they didn't pay up. Ain't nobody exempt from the Foot." Robbie could hear Bob grinning in the dark. "Or maybe just 'cause they're weird lookin'."

"Weird, like they got pink mohawks?" Robbie teased.  
  
"Hey, ain't nothin' weird about a pink mohawk!"

Their quiet conversation was interrupted by the someone shushing. The targets were coming. Robbie heard the sound of running feet - the Foot were leading the prey in. Suddenly, the footsteps vanished, followed by a somewhat different sound. Robbie couldn't place it - it sounded like people in sandals or flip-flops running. He saw a couple vague shapes enter the warehouse proper, then come to a complete halt. There was a second of silence before a voice spoke.

"Dudes, I think we've been set up."

Suddenly, the lights came on. The Foot Soldiers leapt to their feet...and froze. Standing near the center of the warehouse stood four creatures, not quite five feet tall. Robbie couldn't figure out what the heck they were. They were green, and looked kind of like turtles standing on their hind legs. After a moment's pause, Robbie burst out laughing, along with the rest of the Foot Soldiers. Man, they looked awfully pathetic standing there surrounded by fifty elite fighters. And Jutaro was right - there was no question about who the target was. Robbie stepped up, swinging his bat lightly in his hands.. In the back of his head, he asked the question again. Why so many of us against these four? But he didn't have time to mull it over. He pointed his bat at the turtle closest to him, who responded by pulling a long stick from behind his back. A stick! This thing was going to try to take him on with a stick! Robbie grinned - this was gonna be fun and easy. "Say your prayers, freak," he said, then he lifted his bat, set his teeth, and charged.

Robbie slowly became aware of himself. It took him several tries to get his brain going. Wait - where was he? He was laying on a floor, face down. Wait a second - how'd he end up here? It didn't seem to matter whether his eyes were open or closed - he couldn't see anything. He tried lifting himself up, and he saw lights flashing in his brain. Ouch - he'd taken a heck of a hit in the back of the head. Slowly, painfully, he rolled into a sitting position and rubbed his head and neck for a bit. I've gotta find out what's going on, he thought. Carefully, he got to his knees, then stood up. Putting his hands out in front of him, he began walking towards the doorway, where a bit of light was coming in. After a bit of fumbling around, he found the light switch on the wall and flipped it. Blinking a bit at the sudden influx of light, he was stunned by what he saw. Forty or so Foot Soldiers strewn across the warehouse floor, and only a few of them moving at all. Those green freaks took us all out! Scanning the floor, Robbie spied Bob's pink mohawk, and stumbled over to help his friend. Bob was lying on his back, moaning and clutching his left arm.

"Bob, what happened?"

"My shoulder...damn...those chucks..."

"Don't worry, man. You'll be OK. I'll get us out of here."

Helplessly, Robbie stood up and began talking to each of the Foot members in turn. They were going to need to find some guys who could drive back to the base. It took a bit of time, but finally, Robbie found three others who thought they'd be OK driving. Two of the six Foot vans that had driven them there were missing - presumably, a couple Foot had turned tail and ran when they saw how the battle was going. It was a quiet trip back to base, except for some groaning by the seriously injured. Everyone had the same two thoughts - "Those freaks really pulled a number on us" and "The Shredder isn't going to like this."

The Shredder, in fact, didn't like it. At all. Robbie found out that all the things he'd heard about the Shredder were true. He was in fact big, and did wear the mask and cape. And even though he was aware that he'd failed in this mission, and was prepared to be yelled at, Robbie wasn't ready for the Shredder's wrath. In fact, the Shredder brought his fury on his subjects with a force no one had thought possible. He screamed, pounded the wall, and smacked a couple Foot soldiers across the face with his bladed wrists (Robbie being one of the unlucky ones). At the end of his rant, he called them unworthy of the Foot clan, and finally stormed out with a growl. Slowly, the defeated and demeaned Foot soldiers made their way back to their rooms, Once there, Robbie noticed that his video game system had been removed. Geez, the Shredder could be just like Ma sometimes. Robbie went to the bathroom to clean the scratches on his face, and upon returning, he was surprised to see Bob on his bed, whistling.

"What're you so happy about?"

Bob shrugged and readjusted his arm in his sling. "Dunno. Just feelin' lucky."

"Lucky? We got our butts whipped!"

"Yeah. But at least we're still going. Don't worry 'bout it." Bob grinned. "There'll be a rematch. We'll get 'em next time."

Robbie sighed. "Yeah," he said halfheartedly, thinking of the warehouse full of unconscious Foot soldiers. "Next time."

The next few days passed slowly for Robbie. Everyone was on edge. A lot of regular activities were dropped. Very few shipments came in or out of the base. Obviously, something big was brewing, but nobody knew what. Or if they knew, they weren't telling. Robbie feared the worst, and since he had no idea what the worst could be, he had several rather imaginative scenarios. Only Bob kept him from flipping out completely.

"Don't worry 'bout it," Bob said, over and over. "Things will work out."

At the end of the week, the entire Foot clan was assembled by Jutaro. He announced that they were plotting to "eradicate the freaks of nature" that had caused "dishonor to fall upon the Foot clan." He asked for two volunteers. These volunteers would undergo a regimen that would enable them to "crush these abominations once and for all." Bob raised his hand, then looked expectantly at Robbie. Robbie thought for a second, then raised his hand, as well. Why not? A chance to get stronger, and pound the guys who pounded him? It sounded like fun.

Thinking back on it, Rocksteady snorted. Fun. Worst mistake of his life.


	3. III

As the Foot Soldiers dispersed, Jutaro approached Bob and Robbie. He told them to head upstairs and shower - "extra hard". Robbie looked over at Bob, who shrugged. As always, they weren't supposed to ask questions.

Robbie went upstairs and showered first, hoping using a washcloth counted as "extra hard". He got dressed as Bob took his shower, and he began wondering what exactly this "regimen" would involve. The more the thought about it, the less he liked it, but he knew there was no "un-volunteering" with the Foot.

Robbie stepped out of his door and saw Jutaro waiting for him on the main floor. He yelled down, "Hey, do I need to bring my stuff? Anything?"

Jutaro looked up, shook his head once, and then turned away. Jutaro was a man of few words.

Sighing, Robbie went back into his room, just as Bob came back in from the bathroom, whistling and trying to get his mohawk back into place. "Hey, you ready to roll?" Robbie shrugged, and Bob stopped, looking his friend over. "Why so glum, chum?"

"Just...worried. How this'll all play out."

Bob laughed and slapped Robbie's shoulder. "Don't worry 'bout it. We'll be the hit of the Foot in no time." He grabbed his leather jacket and nodded towards the door. "C'mon - let's not keep 'em waiting."

After heading downstairs, Bob and Robbie were herded into the back of a van. As they drove off, Robbie turned to watch the streets go by, but then noticed the windows were blacked out. That made him uncomfortable - he felt like he was being arrested. Or kidnapped. Instead, he looked over at Bob, who had resumed his whistling, and sighed. He wished he could be happy-go-lucky as that.

Sensing that he was being looked at, Bob glanced back at Robbie. "So, looking forward to being the second strongest Foot soldier around?" he asked, grinning.

Robbie shrugged. "I dunno. I guess. Just worried how it's gonna work."

"How d'ya mean?"

"Well, what're we gonna have to do? I keep thinkin' it's gonna be like boot camp or somethin'. We're gonna be climbin' ropes and liftin' weights an' all that, with the Shredder yellin' in our ear to go faster an' faster."

Bob smiled. "Nah, it ain't gonna be like that. If they just wanted stronger guys, they woulda grabbed the ones who's already strong, like Bruce. But they was asking for volunteers, and we ain't the strongest guys in da Foot."

Robbie thought about that. It sort of made sense. "So...what do you think it's gonna be like?"

Shrugging, Bob said, "Dunno. But I'm guessin' it'll involve guns."

"Guns?"  
  
"Yeah. They'll give us guns, teach us to shoot, and then we can pick 'em off from up above next time we run into 'em. Then it won't matter how good they are with them chucks an' swords an' stuff."

Robbie frowned. It sounded good, but something about that didn't quite seem right. Before he could give it much thought, the van pulled into a parking lot. They were both quickly ushered into an old abandoned brick building and down a long corridor. Coming to meet them from the other end was an older man in a white coat. He looked at them over his glasses rather absently.

"These are the two?" he asked, and the driver nodded. "Very well. We'll start with one down here...this one." He pointed at Robbie with his pen. "The other one can go upstairs, and I'll attend to him later. You two may as well say your goodbyes now."

"Our...goodbyes?" repeated Bob.

"Yes, we can only handle one of you per floor," the doctor said briefly, like that explained everything.

Bob shrugged - he seemed to accept pretty much everything. He waved to Robbie as two Foot soldiers led him up the stairs. "Later, Robbie. See ya on top of the world!"

"Yeah," said Robbie, half-heartedly waving back. "See ya."

"Now," said the doctor, turning his entire attention to Robbie. "You have showered, correct?"

"Yeah. Just before we left."

"And you have not had contact with any animals today, correct?"

"Huh?"

"Animal contact," said the doctor impatiently. "You didn't pet any dogs or cats? Anything like that?"

Robbie tried not to look completely baffled. "Uh, no."

"Excellent. Let's get started." He led Robbie down the hall into a small room. Robbie stopped to look at the door - it was extra thick and made of steel. The doctor nodded at him. "This bulding was originally a bank when they first built it. These old vaults will come in handy." Robbie turned to look at the room. There was a metal slab in the middle of the room, and hanging from the ceiling was a huge metal ceiling hood and one bare light bulb. That was it. No windows, nothing on the walls, and only the one door. As Robbie took in the lack of ambience, the doctor made some notes on his clipboard and said, "If you'll please disrobe?"

"Huh?"

"Your clothes," said the doctor, now completely impatient. "Take them off."

Still trying not to look confused, Robbie complied. He stripped down to his boxers, then asked, "Uh, these, too?"

"Well, those'll take care of themselves, I imagine," he said cryptically. "You can leave them on. Go ahead and lie down. I'll be right back, and we can begin."

As the doctor headed out, Robbie slowly climbed onto the metal slab (it was cold), and lay down on his back. As he stared up at the hood as it sucked up air noisily, he thought, what's gonna happen? Maybe they were gonna shoot him up with steroids. Robbie heard that made people pretty strong real quick. He heard someone enter the room, and turned his head to look. To his surprise, it was someone wearing a radiation suit. When the person came close, Robbie peered at the face plate - it was the doctor.

After placing a few items on the slab next to Robbie, the doctor got to work. First he wiped Robbie's left forearm with an alcohol pad. Next, he opened up a small but apparently very heavy container. He stuck a swab into it, and pulled out some sticky green goo, which he smeared onto Robbie's arm. Robbie couldn't figure out what that was for - maybe some sort of disinfectant? It felt a bit warm, but that was it. Robbie watched as the doctor carefully wrapped up the swab and stuck it into a pocket on his radiation suit. He replaced the lid on the container, and put that in a different pocket. Next, he pulled out a syringe. Robbie shut his eyes and gritted his teeth - he hated shots - but instead of injecting him, the doctor just squirted some thick red liquid onto his arm. Opening his eyes, he glanced down at his arm, but then was distracted by the doctor. He had quickly grabbed all the items he had brought in, then scurried out of the room, shutting the huge metal door behind him.

"Doc?" Robbie said. "What's going on?" He began asking something else, but it was cut short by a scream.

What followed was a complete blur of intense, body-wracking pain. Mercifully, his brain kept him unconscious through most of it. At some point, the slab he had been lying on was removed, but Robbie didn't notice - he was busy writhing on the floor, alternately moaning and screaming. From time to time, hunger would overtake him - a hunger so intense that it blocked out the pain. Each time it did, he opened his eyes and found a large plate of hamburgers and a pail of water in front of him. Robbie would wolf the burgers down, ten, twelve at a time, not even noticing that they were cold. He'd follow that by gulping down the contents of the pail, and then immediately falling senseless again.

Finally, at last, Robbie found himself waking up. He felt completely worn out, and he ached absolutely everywhere. Slowly, painfully, he opened his eyes. He was sprawled out on the ground, face down. Slowly, he tried to piece together what had happened. He vaguely remembered the intense pain and hunger, but couldn't put a time frame to it.

Darting his eyes around, he noticed something near his head. He painfully started moving his arm over to grab it. Suddenly, he froze. His hand was now in view, and Robbie didn't recognize it at all. It was huge and grey, with a few thick hairs protuding from it here and there. The nails were yellowed and cracked. Robbie moved the fingers one at a time, and watched as the large but stubby fingers moved in turn. This was his hand, all right. What had happened to him? Again, he noticed the thing by his head, and reached for it. Once he touched it, he recoiled in horror - the thing wasn't near his head, it was his head! Slowly, he forced his hand back to it, and began feeling it all over. It was long, with a pronounced snout. His teeth were sharp and crooked. Moving upwards, he felt horns (horns?). His eyes were small and set back, and his ears now stuck up over his head. Robbie tried to piece together what he looked like. Grey, horns, snout...elephant? No. Hippo? No. Rhino...that's it! That doctor had turned him into a rhino! He was a freak now, just like them turtles!

Robbie heard a noise near the door. Lifting his massive head somewhat (it felt incredibly heavy), he saw a Foot soldier peering into the room. Robbie shouted up at the metal grate in the door. "What did you do to me?!" The Foot soldier left, but Robbie hardly noticed. He was stunned by the sound of his own voice - even that had changed. Now it was deep, hoarse and raspy. "What did you do to me?" he repeated, mainly to himself, as he let hin head droop back onto the floor.

It wasn't too much longer before another shape appeared at the grate. "So, my warrior is ready for battle!" a voice intoned.

Again, Robbie slowly turned his head toward the door. Even in the low light, even through the grating, he recognized the Shredder. Once more, Robbie said, this time somewhat flatly, "What did you do to me?"

"You are indeed fortunate," said the Shredder, with no apparent irony. "You have become the first of an army of invincible warriors for the Foot clan. What better way to fight mutant than with another mutant?"

Slowly, Robbie lifted his chest off the floor a bit. He leaned a bit to the side, and swung his legs around, wincing as the sore, expanded muscles were used for the first time. He eventually managed to get himself into a sitting position, with his legs splayed out in front of him. He didn't feel invincible at all. He tried to think of something to say, but all he could think was "God, I hurt everywhere" and "I don't have any clothes on."

"So, how does it feel, to be one so powerful, and so honored?" asked the Shredder.

Numbly, Robbie looked at his hands, then let them drop to his lap. Lifting his heavy head towards the door, Robbie said, "Um. I don't like it. Change me back."

"Change...you...?" The Shredder's voice was quiet and even, but Robbie thought he heard extreme anger behind it. But suddenly, the voice became calm and friendly. "Change you back? Certainly! Once you've killed those freaks, if you decide you no longer wish to be one of the Foot's elite fighting force, we'll change you back."

Robbie blinked up at the door. "Really?"

"Of course. But first things first. We must defeat the threat to our clan. Are you ready for your first battle? To restore your honor, and the honor of the Foot?"

The Shredder's voice inspired him. Growling, Robbie sprang to his feet. Well, he tried to, but his muscles wouldn't do what he told them to. His legs didn't stretch out all the way, and he didn't give himself enough of a push. As it was, he fell flat on his face, smacking his snout on the floor. "Oof," he groaned, rolling to his side and grasping his nose with both hands. After a second, the Shredder slammed his fists against the door and stormed off.

Lying there, Robbie started thinking. The more he thought, the clearer one thing became - the Shredder held all the cards. It's not like Robbie could just get up and leave. He was a freak. Even his ma wouldn't recognize him now. And there was no way he could go through life looking like this. He had to get his old body back. And the only person who could do that for him was the Shredder. So for now, he was stuck - he had to do what the Shredder asked. If he had to go kill those turtles in order to get his body back, then that's what he would do. And he couldn't kill the turtles in the state he was in. He had to master this body.

It was somewhat surprising, even to Robbie, how focused he became. Admittedly, there wasn't much to do in his featureless room, but in addition, he had certainly never had a goal that was this important to him. He devoted every waking moment to trying to master his body. It took him two hours to stand, and until the end of the day to take two steps without tripping over his own large feet. By the end of the second day, he could walk across the room without keeping his hand on the wall. On the third day, he asked a frightened and confused Foot soldier for a penny, which was hastily handed to him through the grate. Robbie would toss it across the room, walk over, bend down and try to pick it up. The first time he tried, he fell foward onto his face. The next time, going very slowly and carefully, he managed to pick up the penny in about an hour. By the end of the day, he could pick it up without too much trouble. He was given clothes (size 6XL), and he practiced putting them on and taking them off, over and over. The zipper on his pants was especially difficult - it took a lot of practice for him to grab the small pull with his oversized fingers.

On the fifth day, Robbie decided he needed to work on his balance - he was tired of tripping and falling all the time. He was hopping from one foot to another, side to side, when a Foot soldier brought in his typically large lunch. The Foot soldier watched Robbie awhile with amusement. "Nice moves, there, Rocksteady," he said, and two other soldiers in the hall laughed. Robbie gave him a look, and the soldier quickly scurried out of the room. Robbie watched him leave, grabbed a sandwich, and shoved it into his mouth, resuming his hopping motion. By the end of the day, everyone in the building was calling him Rocksteady, but he hardly noticed - he had work to do.

A couple days later, Rocksteady was running from one corner of the room to the other, causing the building to shake a bit under each heavy footstep, when the door opened. Two Foot soldiers stepped in, and Rocksteady stopped running, staring at them inquisitively.

"The Shredder has called for you," one said.

Rocksteady untucked his T-shirt from his pants, and wiped the sweat off of his forehead with it. He breathed heavily, then nodded. The Foot soldiers stepped out into the hall, and Rocksteady followed them, ducking his head slightly to avoid hitting the top of the door frame. As they headed down the hall, he saw a few people in rooms staring at him. He stared each one down. For the first time, he started to feel good about his new body. He was feared! He was someone to be reckoned with! Maybe being a freak for a while wasn't going to be so bad.

The Foot soldiers waved him into a room, which Rocksteady ducked into. There wasn't much there - none of these rooms appeared to be fully furnished. There were a few fluorescent lights hanging down, a long metal bench at one end, and standing near a chalkboard, arms crossed, was the Shredder. He looked over Rocksteady with an approving eye.

"My Foot soldiers have told me you have made great progress, " he said. Rocksteady nodded once. "Excellent. The time grows near..." His speech was cut short by someone else ducking into the room. He was just as tall as Rocksteady, and just as wide. He was covered in brown fur, and had a huge gold ring through his snout. But there was no mistaking that pink mohawk.

"Bob?" asked Robbie.

"Robbie?"

"Enough," announced the Shredder. "Heartwarming reunions make me sick to my stomach." He held out his hand, indicating the bench, and they sat down. "The time has come for you two to eradicate this mutant menace once and for all."

Rocksteady blinked. Now? I just finished learning to walk. He looked over at his friend, who was watching the Shredder and nodding. The Shredder went on.

"I have several Foot soldiers out laying the bait. At the first sign of them, we will drive you down to engage them. You will be properly outfitted with everything you need to see to it that these freaks don't bother us ever again. If possible, bring them to me alive. If not possible, bring them to me dead. Either way, bring them to me. Is that clear?"

Rocksteady thought about saying something, but he watched as Bob pounded his fists into his knees and grunted. Well, Bob looks ready, he thought. Well, maybe we can take 'em on. Well, sure! We're huge! There ain't no way they can take us out now. It might take some time, but we'll get 'em.

A buzzing sound interrupted Rocksteady's internal pep talk. The Shredder pulled a small communicator from his belt. "Yes?...Already?...Excellent. I'll send them now." He put the communicator back on his belt and looked up at his two mutants. "The time has come. Let us get you equipped."


	4. IV

Rocksteady and Bob were led to the back of the building, to what appeared to have been a loading dock at one point. Their eyes went wide when they saw the weapons laid out for them - every gun and martial arts weapon seemed to be there at their disposal. While they stared, one Foot soldier handed them both guns, and another gave them belts of ammunition. Rocksteady looked over the swords, knives, and shurikens. They were all really cool, but he decided he'd better stick with something he knew, and selected a baseball bat. Similarly, Bob picked up a bat and chain. Once they were outfitted, they were quickly herded out the back door into the back of a van, and it sped off into the night.

Rocksteady balanced his weapons on his knees, then looked up at his friend, smiling. "Bob."

"Not anymore," he grinned. "They been callin' me 'Bebop'. And they tell me you're Rocksteady." Laughing, he said, "Bebop an' Rocksteady. Cool, huh?"

Rocksteady grinned back. "Yeah." He looked down at the gun in his lap. "I never used one o' these before."

"Me neither."

For some reason, Rocksteady found that surprising. "Really?"

"Nah - always been a basher, not a shooter."

"Yeah, me, too."

"S'OK. We'll get the job done, one way or th' other."

Rocksteady sighed. "Yeah, we gotta. Y'know, if we wanna ever get back."

"Get back? What'd ya mean?"

"Get our bodies back. Shredder said once we kill them turtles, he'll get us back to normal."

"Back to normal?" repeated Bebop. "Why you wanna return to normal? Rocky, you ain't thinkin'! With these bodies, we got everything! Everyone's scared of us, we're strong as hell - like I said before, we're on top of the world now!"

Rocksteady considered that for a bit. Yeah, he did like the attention he was getting. And yeah, it was pretty neat being really strong. But he was pretty sure he didn't want to spend the rest of his life as a rhino.

Suddenly, the van pulled to a stop. Bebop and Rocksteady spilled out, just as a homeless man stepped up to ask for some change. One look at the mutants sent him tearing down the street.

Bebop laughed. "See, what'd I tell ya?" Rocksteady watched the guy run off, wondering if that was really the reaction he wanted to inspire in everyone he met. Turning to the driver, Bebop asked, "Where we headed?"

She pointed to the alleyway. "That's where they're supposed to lead them. Better hide out in there before they show up."

"Gotcha. Thanks." Bebop slapped the side of the van, and it sped off. Bebop leaned his head toward the alley, and they walked in, glancing around. Rocksteady found a spot between two dumpsters that he fit into pretty well, and Bebop found a spot at the other end between two stacks of boxes.

Rocksteady paused before crouching down. "When're they gonna get here?" he yelled to his friend.

"Dunno - better stay down, though."

"Gotcha." Rocksteady went down on one knee. Nervously, he looked at his gun. Something about this whole set-up didn't seem right. He gave it quite a bit of thought before it hit him. He and Bebop hadn't ever used a gun before. So why were the Foot just handing them guns? If the Foot wanted these freaks shot, why not find out who the best shot was, and then hand them the guns? Shouldn't he have been given lessons first before they just handed him a gun? Well, if he was going to use the gun, he better make sure he knew how to use it. He looked at it intently, cursing quietly. Rhinos sure got lousy eyes, he thought.

He looked up as a Foot soldier ran by his hiding place, followed by several others. This was it! And he might only get this one chance. Setting his teeth and growling quietly, Rocksteady prepared to move. The Foot soldiers leapt up on dumpsters and then onto fire escapes, climbing to safety, as the turtles turned the corner and ran by him. When he counted four (he was pretty sure there were four of them), he stood up and stepped into the alley. He saw Bebop emerge from his hiding place right after he did. The turtles pulled to a stop and saw they were surrounded.

Rocksteady laughed. "End of the road, freaks!"

One of the turtles spun his knives around in his hands. "Look who's calling who 'freak'," he said pointedly.

Rocksteady was taken aback. The turtle was right - he was a freak now, just like them. In fact, having seen his new body up close, the turtles didn't seem quite that freaky anymore. But none of that mattered. He wouldn't be a freak much longer if he could take these turtles out. He raised his gun and pointed it at them.

"Scatter!" yelled one of the turtles, as they ducked to the edges of the alley.

Rocksteady went for the trigger, then looked down in alarm. His finger was too big to fit inside the trigger guard! In a panic, he tried twisting and forcing it in, to no avail. Finally, he gave up and pushed his pinky finger into the trigger guard. That one fit, just barely. He pulled the trigger back. Nothing happened. Cursing, Rocky brought the gun up to his face, trying to figure out what was wrong. Finally, he found the problem - the safety! He flicked that off, and the gun began firing round after round into the air. Rocksteady clumsily brought the gun down towards the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bebop waving wildly. Pulling his finger out of the trigger guard, he looked over at his fellow mutant.

"You tryin' to kill me?" demanded Bebop.

Before Rocksteady could explain, the turtles leapt out of their hiding places. Two came after him, one carrying wooden swords, the other nunchakus. The first immediately slammed both swords into his gun, knocking it out of his hands and stinging his fingers pretty bad, to boot. At first, he was angry, but then Rocksteady realized he didn't need it. He was better fighting with his hands. Reaching behind him, he pulled his baseball bat out of its sling. He grinned as the turtles eyes got a bit bigger. Yeah! Now this is more like it!

Rocksteady brought the bat up, then took an overhead swing at the one carrying swords, who immediately ducked out of the way. As Rocksteady went into his follow through, he felt the other turtle strike his side with the chucks. It hurt a bit, but not that much. He smiled - that shot probably would've knocked him down before. He lifted the bat and spun it towards his attacker, who leapt backwards out of range. As the bat followed through, he felt the wooden swords hit the back of his head. Again, it didn't hurt that badly. Growling a bit, he then lifted the bat above his head and tried to implant it on the swordsman's skull, but the turtle was too quick - he dodged it to the side. And again, he felt the chucks hit him in the side.

The battle went on for some time, in an apparent stalemate. Rocksteady couldn't land a blow, and after each missed attempt, would be smacked somewhere on his body. He wasn't in that much pain, but it was making him angry, which made his swings even wilder. After a few minutes of fighting, Rocksteady felt one of the nunchucks glance off his shoulder and hit his snout. OK, that hurt. He winced, growled and turned to face the turtle with the nunchucks. He was spinning them around, and smiling - which made him even madder than before. He readjusted his grip on the bat, lifted it above his head, and with a lound growl, he swung with all his might. The turtle dove aside, narrowly avoiding getting struck. As Rocksteady leaned forward, his head coming low down. The swordsman didn't let that opening go - he slammed both wooden swords onto his snout, one on either side of his horn. Rocksteady howled in pain, dropped the bat, and fell to the ground.

It took a few minutes for the pain to subside. Rocksteady finally opened his eyes. Bebop was lying on his side at the other end of the alley. The turtles were gone. They had failed.

From that point on, both Bebop and Rocksteady were persona non grata at Foot HQ. Apparently, the Foot had thrown all their hopes behind them, and they hadn't delivered. Come mealtime, they were stuck at a table by themselves, and they never got enough food to fill themselves up. They still had their room, with the same beds, but now they had to curl up into a fetal position to fit into them. After a few days, Jutaro and the other leaders would bark orders at them, assigning them menial tasks - moving heavy stuff around, mainly. Rocksteady had half a mind to quit, but then he realized that he'd never be accepted anywhere else. He was stuck with the Foot. Rocksteady never felt so low, but he was surprised that Bebop didn't seem that affected by the current state of affairs. True, he wasn't whistling all the time anymore (he couldn't - his new body's lips were all wrong for it), but he maintained an upbeat outlook.

"Look, they're pissed - and that's cool. They'll get over it, an then they'll send us back out. We'll get another crack at 'em," he said, confidently.

Rocksteady sighed. He wanted to believe that. All of it. The alternative wasn't pretty - stuck in a body he despised, working for a gang that didn't want him, but unable to go anywhere else.

For a few months, they continued to perform brute force jobs for the Foot. Still, no one talked to them unless they had to. Rocksteady couldn't decide if that was because they were told not to, or they simply chose not to. He decided it probably didn't matter.

It had been a long night - Bebop and Rocksteady were stuck pulling catwalks out of an old warehouse that the Foot was going to give up. They wearily got back into the van, and headed back to HQ, ready for their regular never-enough meal and bed. When they pulled up, however, they knew something was wrong. Too many Foot soldiers were milling around outside the building, many out of uniform. Rocksteady hopped out of the van and grabbed someone.

"What's goin' on?"

The Foot soldier just shook his head. "It's over."

"What's over?"

"The Foot. Everything." He walked away, leaving the two mutants to run into the building to find out the entire story. The turtles had attacked last night. They had gone through all of the Foot's best fighters, and finished off by dueling the Shredder on the roof. The duel had ended with the Shredder falling off the roof and breaking his head open in the fall. He was dead. And as far as most Foot soldiers were concerned, with his death came the death of the Foot. Jutaro was nowhere to be seen, and the few group leaders remaining there seemed as clueless as everyone else as to what to do next.

Rocksteady walked up to his room in kind of a daze. Inside, he saw Bebop in a flurry of activity, tossing stuff into an old army bag. "C'mon," said Bebop. "Get yer stuff."

"What?"

"We gotta get outta here. Cops'll be here soon, and we better not be here when they show up."

Numbly, Rocksteady took another army bag from Bebop and began putting his few possessions in it. "Where we gonna go?"

"We'll figger that out later." Once their stuff was packed, they headed out the back. It had suddenly started pouring, and Bebop and Rocksteady could hardly see into the parking lot. There were only two vans left, and one Foot soldier was about to climb into one. Bebop growled, "Oh, no, ya don't". He ran over, grabbed him by the shoulder, and pulled him out. Holding him up with his left hand, Bebop spied the keys in his hand. Grinning, he snatched them. "Take the bus," he sneered, and tossed him aside. "C'mon." Rocksteady climbed into the passenger seat, and Bebop tore out of the parking lot.


	5. V

Rocksteady had wanted some time alone, but he had had more than enough. Bebop should've been back by now. Where the heck was he? He had seriously started considering going out after him, even though he wasn't entirely sure where he might be. Rocksteady hadn't spent this much time alone is a long time, and it was severely freaking him out. Suddenly he heard tires squealing outside, followed by a light crash. Yeah, that'd be Bebop. Rocksteady leapt off the pallets and opened the door for Bebop. He was standing in the near-darkness, grinning, holding several grocery bags and carrying a sleeping bag under each arm.

"Geez, took you long enough!" said Rocksteady, more relieved than upset.

"Yeah, well, I had a couple problems." Bebop glanced around. "Man, it gets dark in here."

"Well, yeah! We gots no power, remember?" Rocksteady led him to the spot below the window. Bebop dropped the bags, then tossed one of the sleeping bags to Rocksteady. "What kinda problems?"

"Huh?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cigarettes.  
  
"You said you had problems."

"Ah, no biggie." Bebop paused while he lit up. After taking his first drag, he said, "I went to Ace's to pawn the stuff." He made to put his lighter and cigarettes away, but Rocksteady waved at him.

"Wait - lemme borrow the lighter."

Bebop handed it to him, and watched as he tried to get the fire going. "So, anyways, Ace din't wanna take the stuff."

"Wha'? How come?"

"Some stupid state law sez you gotta have ID to sell stuff to pawnshops. I got my old ID, but it don't look much like me no more."

"And Ace gave ya hell for dat?"

"Well, he said he got busted for takin' stuff without ID, and the city came down pretty hard."

"So, wha' happened?"  
  
"Let's just say we worked it out. He wanted the guns pretty bad." He took another drag, then grinned as the fire took hold.

Rocksteady began feeding the flames from his pile of broken pallets. "How much ya get?"

"Enough. F'r now, anyways." He indicated the bags on the floor. "Dinner's waitin'."

"Great - I'm starvin'." Rocksteady dove into the nearest bag, and emerged with a large bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos. "These for me?"

"'f you want." Bebop stuck his cigarette back in his mouth, then reached into a different bag.

"Ain't ya hungry?" He tore the bag open with his teeth - his large stubby fingers were horrible at opening things.

"Had some Butterfingers on th' way back." He pulled out a small portable radio, and turned it on. He fiddled with the dial until he found the hard rock station, then turned up the volume, nodding his head along. Looking up, he took his cigarette out of his mouth and grinned again at his friend. "You 'n' me 'n' Metallica. Jus' like always."

"Yeah," said Rocksteady, rather uncertainly, around a mouthful of chips. He took another fistful of chips, then tossed the bag aside. He pulled off three pallets and lined them up, then unrolled a sleeping bag on top.

"Ya tired already?"

Rocksteady shrugged. "Kinda. I guess. I sorta feel...I dunno."

Again, Bebop decided to let Rocksteady have his way. "That's cool, Rocky. Whatever. We're on our own here - ain't nobody gonna tell us what t' do."

"Yeah," said Rocksteady, somewhat sadly. He lay down on top of the sleeping bag, then glanced down at his boots. He thought briefly about taking them off, but then remembering what a bitch they always were to put back on, shook the thought off.

Bebop flicked his stub away, turned the radio down, then began assembling his own bed. Rocksteady watched him absently.

"Bebop..."

"Yeah?"

"What...what're we gonna do?"

"Find anudder gang to join, ya dummy. Whadja think?"

"I...oh. Will anudder gang let us join?"

"Ya kiddin'? 'f course they will. Every gang's gonna want us. We're the biggest, meanest guys in the city! Ain't nobody's gonna mess wit' us."

That's kinda what I'm afraid of, thought Rocksteady, but he didn't say it out loud. He wanted to believe in Bebop's future - the eternally sunny one, with good times right around the corner. He sighed, closed his eyes, and tried to get comfortable enough to fall asleep.

Unfortunately, things didn't turn out quite as rosy as Bebop predicted. The Foot didn't just supersede all the other gangs; it had put most of them out of comission. While this would've been a point of pride for Bebop and Rocksteady a month or so ago, now it was a major problem. The dismantling of the Foot left a void - one that would be filled eventually, of course, but at this particular moment, there just didn't appear to be any gangs to join. Had either of them had any leadership skills (or any motivation), they probably could've created a powerful new gang from the ground up. But both Bebop and Rocksteady were followers by nature, and such a thought didn't even occur to them. Instead, every night, they went out in search of a gang to join. Each night they headed further and further from their homebase, and each morning returning dejected. Things were made even more difficult one evening when they woke up and found the van had been towed away. Now all their excursions had to be made by jumping the subway. Not that either of them wanted to expose themselves to the public like that, but it was that or walk, and they were now forced to travel far enough that walking would've taken hours.

Rocksteady tried not to worry too much, but he kept his eye on the food supply. He knew the money was now gone - Bebop had even given up smoking - and one morning, he was dismayed to see only two large bags of pretzels left. He reluctantly bit one open, but then felt he couldn't keep quiet. "What're we gonna do for food?"

Bebop was tapping his foot along to the radio, humming. He looked up and grinned. "Got it covered."

"How?"

"Rocky, you gotta stop worryin'. Everythin' always turns out OK, right?" Seeing Rocksteady half-shrug, he went on. "Don't worry 'bout it. Look, I'll go take care of it right now." He stood up and stretched.

"Where you gonna go?"

"Out. Be back later, wit' all yer favorites!" He shot Rocksteady another grin, then headed out the door. Rocksteady munched pretzels as he watched him walk down the alley, then headed back for his sleeping bag. He turned the radio to the classic rock station, smiled a bit, then nodded off to the soothing strains of Blue Oyster Cult.

Rocksteady slowly woke up to the Morning Zoo doing their birthday scam. Birthday scam? he thought. But...but they only do that on Wednesday mornings. It's Wednesday? Wow, I must have slept all day! No wonder I'm hungry. Hungry! Bebop said he'd get more food! He swung into a sitting position and looked at the food. Only the two bags of pretzels. He looked over at the door - it was still as he had left it. Bebop must not have come back yet. Where was he? Well, he wouldn't worry about it - Bebop always came through.

He stood up, stretched, then decided to sneak out to steal the paper from the restaurant next door - he liked to read the funnies. He opened the door, carefully made his way down the alley, snagged the paper, then hurried back, closing the door behind him. He began humming along to the song on the radio as he opened the paper. Before he could flip to the entertainment section, the word MUTANT caught his eye. Sitting down on his sleeping bag, he read the full headline.

POLICE SHOOT ARMED MUTANT ROBBER

Rocksteady wasn't much of a reader, but he forced himself to read the entire article, twice. He wasn't mentioned by name, but it was obvious who the "seven-foot warthog mutant with a pink mohawk" was. Apparently, Bebop had gone in to rob a liquor store last evening, but had walked in just as a cop was leaving. The cop, thinking he was in danger, had shot Bebop three times in the chest. He had survived - Bebop was tough - but it was obvious he was going to jail, probably for years.

Rocksteady felt his eyes getting blurry. He had no prospects, no food, no money...and now, no friend. He was completely alone.


	6. VI

It was a combination of inertia and sheer determination that kept Rocksteady walking through the downpour. He had broken into a corner market about a week back, and stolen a bunch of food. But he had since eaten it all, and he was starving again. Pasquini's! They had the best pizza in town - with pepperoni, sausage, mushrooms... He'd have three pies. Maybe four.

At last, he made it to the pizzeria. He put his hands on the metal security grate and smiled a bit. Finally, he thought. He rubbed his hands against his rather filthy pant legs, trying to get some of the excess water off, then grabbed the grate and pulled hard. A mutant rhino, even a starved and exhausted one, has a lot of reserve strength, and the grate snapped open. Rocksteady's smile widened, and he prepared to smash the front door open with his fists.

"Stop!" he heard someone yelling.

Rocksteady whirled around. Through the pouring rain, he made out one of the turtles heading towards him, and his eyes lit up. Hey, here was his chance! He could kill this one, and then the other ones would come, and once he killed them...oh. Then nothing. The Shredder was dead, and he didn't have any idea where the doctor was. But still. It was all these freaks' fault that his life was ruined. He'd kill him anyway.

Slowly, Rocksteady balled his fists, then took a deep breath. His breath caught somewhere in his throat, and he exploded in a coughing fit. He bent down until the coughing subsided, then wiped his mouth and stood back up. The turtle hadn't budged - he stood several feet down the sidewalk, knives drawn, prepared to fight. Rocksteady began lumbering towards him, hands outstretched. The turtle easily dodged the clumsy attack, and with a well-timed kick to the back of the knee, he sent Rocksteady sprawling. Rocksteady managed to get his hands in front of him to take most of the weight of the fall, but he still bonked his snout on the sidewalk.

Great, thought Rocksteady absently. Now my horn's gonna ache all day tomorrow.

He suddenly came to his senses when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Dude, you okay?" Rocksteady considered - he must have been sitting there on his hands and knees for at least a minute. The rain almost felt soothing now. He looked up at the turtle, who looked back down at him, concerned, although he still had one knife out. He thought, I can't kill this freak. Not now. Not ever. It was over.

"Um..." Rocksteady didn't really know what to say, and he certainly didn't know how to say it. "Um...which one is you?"

The turtle took a step back. "What?"

Rocksteady tried to think of another way to put it, but couldn't, so he simply repeated, "Which one is you?"

"Raphael." He began twirling the knife around in his hands, which Rocksteady found fascinating, for some reason.

"Um..." Moving slowly, Rocksteady pushed up a bit and got up on one knee. "You know 'bout da Shredder, huh?"

"Yeah - he died."

"Yeah. So, um, I guess that's it."

"What's it?" He continued spinning his knife, and Rocksteady continued staring at it.

"It's over. I guess you win." Rocksteady hung his head down, and gave an small involuntary shudder. "Jus'...jus' make it quick, K?"

"Make what quick?"

"When...y'know, when ya...kill me."

"Kill...dude, I ain't gonna kill you." Raphael thought, Splinter's always said we have to be prepared for anything, but what the heck are we supposed to do when they give up? When they expect us to kill them? He tried to think. Hm, the Shredder. If the Shredder was Rocksteady's mentor, like Splinter is to me, then... Raphael tried to imagine Splinter dying on them, and he gave an involuntary shudder. Yeah, I can see why he's all messed up. Well, I don't know what to do with him, but I bet Splinter will. How will I get Splinter involved? Can I take Rocksteady down to the lair? Is it safe? Heck, in the state he's in, any of the five of us could take him out if we had to. That settled it. Raphael put his sai away, and grabbed his walkie-talkie. "Raphael here. Listen - meet me back at the lair pronto. Got a surprise for you all." He turned it off before putting it away - he didn't feel like explaining his situation just yet. He reached down, and put his hand under Rocksteady's arm. "C'mon."

Rocksteady looked up through the rain at Raphael. "What?"

"I'm gonna take you to see Splinter. He'll know what to do."

"But..." Rocksteady let his head droop.

"No 'buts', dude. Let's go." He helped Rocksteady to his feet, and had him lean against his body slightly. Slowly, they made their way towards the alley.

Donatello came back into the main living area of the lair, by the light of the fire. The quick shower had refreshed him, and he smiled as he grabbed his regular post-patrol cup of water. "How are we doing on wood?"

Leonardo had been chopping up some old pallets with a small hatchet, but he stopped to survey the stack critically. "OK for now, I guess, but we're starting to get a bit low. Better keep eyes peeled for more."

"Got it," said Donatello, as Michelangelo came back in from the kitchen area. "You catch that, Mike?"

"Yep. Tea water's on."

Splinter turned from the fire and smiled at Michelangelo. "Thank you, my son. Did Raphael give any indication when he would return?"

"Well, not exactly," said Donatello, sitting down next to Splinter at the fire. "But he told us to meet him back here 'pronto'. He probably wouldn't say that if he was planning on keeping us waiting."

"Excellent reasoning, Donatello."

"As always." Everyone turned towards the door at the sound of Raphael's voice. He was dripping wet (as they all had been upon coming back tonight), and grinning from ear to ear. "Dudes, you're not gonna believe this." He stepped in and a bit to the side, allowing Rocksteady to appear behind him.

Only Leonardo made a move for his weapons, and even he pulled short. There was a short pause where nobody moved or spoke, but Master Splinter finally broke the silence. "Raphael, to the shower, please. Leonardo, a towel for our guest. Donatello, if you'll serve the tea? Michelangelo, please prepare some food." Instantly, there was a flurry of activity, as Leonardo and Raphael walked deeper into the lair, and Donatello and Michelangelo disappearing into the kitchen. Rocksteady blankly watched them leave, then turned his head towards the fire and Splinter.

Splinter smiled slightly and indicated a spot next to him. "By all means, come warm yourself." Rocksteady looked confused for a second, but then lumbered over to the fire. He dropped himself extremely heavily onto the ground near Splinter with a mild grunt. He sat staring into the fire, completely silent, except for the rain dripping from him onto the floor. Splinter looked him over critically. He was obviously in poor shape. His clothes were both soaking and filthy. His eyes were nearly glassy, and despite his huge size, Splinter thought he detected a sunken look to him.

Leonardo returned to the room, walked over, and handed a pink towel to Rocksteady. Rocksteady looked up at Leonardo, then at the towel, not understanding. "If you wish to dry yourself...?" said Splinter. Rocksteady slowly took the towel from Leonardo, then looked back up at Leonardo blankly. "Thank you, Leonardo," said Splinter, getting to his feet. He walked back a few steps from the fire and talked quietly to Leonardo at some length.

"You sure, sensei?" asked Leonardo.

"Yes, my son." Splinter reached into his kimono pocket, peeled a few bills from a stack, then handed them to Leonardo. Leonardo held them up to his forehead, then headed out of the lair, pausing just long enough to grab his jacket.

Splinter sat back down at the fire, and observed Rocksteady continuing to stare into the fire, the towel unused in his lap. "You may dry yourself if you wish," he suggested. Rocksteady again looked down at the towel, then began slowly drying his head. Splinter went on, in a quiet voice, "Food and drink are forthcoming, and should not be much longer. Until then, I do have two friendly ears to offer, if you wish to talk."

Rocksteady glanced up at Splinter, who saw the mistrust in his eyes. "You da one what killed the Shredder, huh?" he said quietly.

Splinter wasn't ready for the accusation, but he wisely waited to formulate an appropriate response. "He was hanging from the roof, and I was holding him up. He attempted to throw a knife at me, and I lost my grip avoiding the throw." Splinter sighed. "I wished to see his group dismantled. I wished to see his grasp on the city loosened, but I did not wish him dead."

They turned as Michelangelo came in with a largish bowl. "Food's gonna be a bit, so I bought pretzels," he explained. He handed the bowl towards Rocksteady, whose eyes lit up as he dropped the towel to his lap. He grabbed the bowl with one hand and, pulling it closer, plunged his other hand in. Emerging with a fistful of pretzels, he shoved them in his mouth.

"Dude, you're gonna make yourself sick!" Michelangelo pulled the bowl back towards him.

Splinter put his hand on Rocksteady's knee, as Rocksteady downed his mouthful. "He is right, Rocksteady. Your stomach will not be able to take too much food in its weakened state."

Rocksteady would've argued - in fact, he briefly considered grabbing the bowl back and polishing off the pretzels. But he remembered what happened a few nights back when he ate an entire bag of Funyuns. Resigned, he slumped down and released his hand from the bowl. Michelangelo handed the bowl to Splinter.

"Thank you, my son," said Splinter. Michelangelo half-bowed and headed back into the kitchen. Splinter picked up two pretzels and handed them to Rocksteady. "What have you been doing since the Foot was scattered?"

Rocksteady ate the two pretzels before answering. "Me 'n' Bebop knew this warehouse da Foot didn't use no more, so we been stayin' there." Rocksteady didn't realize how much he missed having someone, anyone, to talk to, and he began talking more amiably. "Bebop, he took a bunch o' stuff from Foot HQ, pawned it, bought us some stuff - food, mainly."

"What did you do then?"

"Tried to find us another gang to join. Couldn't find hardly any. Couple we found were scared of us - said we was too easy to spot, and we'd get 'em in trouble real quick."

"Hm." Splinter handed him two more pretzels and thought. "And then the money ran out?"

"Mm-hm," said Rocksteady, his mouth full of pretzel. After swallowing, he said, "Bebop - well, I din't know this, but he didn't sell all the guns we took from da Foot. I thought he sold 'em all, but he kept one. He went to knock over somethin' to get more money."

"Yes, we read what happened in the paper last week. He was shot while attempting to rob a store, correct?"

"Yeah. So I been by myself since then."

Splinter thought this over as Donatello came in with a tray. On the tray were six mismatched teacups and a teapot. He set the tray down in front of Splinter, and sat down on the other side of him from Rocksteady. "Thank you, my son," said Splinter, as he poured a cup for Rocksteady, and handed it to him with both hands.

"What's this stuff?" Rocksteady asked suspiciously. He took the cup anyway.

"This is oolong tea." Splinter poured a cup for Donatello, and one for himself. Rocksteady sampled the liquid, then made a face.

"This stuff's nasty!"

"Yes," said Master Splinter unexpectedly. "You probably would think so, if you have not had it before. However, I would urge you to drink it. It will calm your stomach, and warm you up in addition."

Rocksteady eyed his cup. then sipped again. Hm, it wasn't so bad that time.

Donatello accepted his cup from Splinter. "Hey, Rocksteady, could I ask you a question?" Rocksteady shrugged, which Donatello took as a yes. "First time we saw you and...the other guy?"

"Bebop."

"Yeah. The first time we saw you two was a few months ago, over by the docks. So where'd you guys come from?"

"Aw, we messed wit' you before dat. Which of you's got da stick?"

"The stick? Oh, the bo stick? That's me - Donatello."

Rocksteady grinned lopsidedly. "I was the first guy ya took on back at th' old warehouse, couple months before that. We led ya in, turned on th' lights, then I stood up an'..."

"Wait, wait, wait." Donatello shook his head, confused. "At the old warehouse? Like six months ago?" Seeing Rocksteady nod, he went on. "But there weren't any mutants there. They were all human."

"We weren't freakified then." He accepted two more pretzels from Splinter.

"You weren't mutants then? So how'd that happen?"

"Shredder done said he was lookin' f'r volunteers to take you guys on..."

Donatello put his teacup down. "You volunteered to undergo mutation?!"

"Hey, I din't know what was gonna happen!" Rocksteady countered, his voice rising. "Ya think I wanted to look like this?!"

Splinter spoke before Donatello had a chance to, in a voice a lot louder than his normal one. "Assuredly, you were misled by the Shredder." In his normal voice, he said, "What did the Shredder tell you would happen?"

Rocksteady, mollified but still a bit peeved, said, "It weren't him. It was Jutaro, his right-hand guy. Said he was lookin' f'r volunteers to take you guys on. We thought it'd be some sorta trainin' or somethin'."

"So the Foot mutated you?" asked Donatello.

"Yeah, so what?"

"Nothing - it kinda surprises me that they knew how. It's...well, the Foot was good at a lot of things, but I didn't know they had any scientific knowhow."

Michelangelo reappeared, carrying a large steaming bowl. "No promises on this one - I sorta made it up as I went along." He handed it off to Rocksteady, but threw a slightly worried look at Splinter. Rocksteady took the bowl and peered inside. He recognized pasta and tomato sauce...and that was about it. He glanced over at Splinter, who gave him a slight shake of the head. Rocksteady was pretty sure he knew what that meant - don't eat so fast. Well, he'd try, but he was pretty hungry. He grabbed the fork that was sticking out of the bowl and began eating. While eagerly munching down, he noticed some sort of vegetable - maybe peas or corn - and some sort of meat in the sauce, but couldn't identify them. But he decided he didn't care - it was food, and it was really good.

After watching Rocksteady take his third bite, Michelangelo smiled. "I take it that the food's acceptable?" Rocksteady nodded, his mouth full, and Michelangelo gave him a thumbs up. "Excellent. Left the kitchen a mess, though. Excuse me?" He headed back just as Raphael came back in, putting on his sweatshirt.

Raphael nodded towards the kitchen. "You need me to clean up?"

"Nah, you already cleaned it once. I got it."

"Cool. Thanks." He watched Michelangelo head back into the kitchen, then turned to face the others. Rocksteady was steadily working his way through his makeshift dinner, while Splinter and Donatello seemed content to sip tea and stare into the fire. He felt he should say something, but before he could think of anything, Leonardo came back through the main entrance.

"Got 'em," said Leonardo simply, holding up a Kmart bag. He hung up his jacket, then handed the bag, along with some change, to Splinter. Splinter waited until Rocksteady had finished his last few bites of his dinner before addressing him.

"We have gotten you something to wear while we clean your clothes. If you wish, we can show you to the shower now."

"Huh?" Rocksteady put his bowl down - perhaps a bit harder than he should have - then ripped open the bag. Inside were a blue sweatshirt and a pair of black sweatpants. He looked up at Splinter, then turned to Leonardo. "What the hell?"

"Um, I got double-extra large on both - that's the biggest they had," Leonardo explained.

"Wait a sec!" Rocksteady stood up, almost kicking his bowl into the fire as he did so. "Why y'all bein' so nice t' me?"

The turtles looked to Splinter, who slowly answered for them. "You appear to need our help, Rocksteady."

"You guys - you don't get it, do ya?" Rocksteady said. He turned and nodded at Donatello. "When I told you to say yer prayers, I weren't kiddin'. I was gonna splatter ya!" He turned back to the others. "And when we mixed it up down by da docks, I weren't kiddin' there, neither! I'da shot ya dead if I coulda!"

There was another uneasy pause, which was finally broken by Leonardo. "But you didn't."

"But I was gonna!" sputtered Rocksteady.

"This no longer matters, Rocksteady," said Splinter, in his most soothing tone. "You must accept the fact that all of that was in a previous existence."

"A prev...what're ya talkin' 'bout?"

"It may not be clear to you now, but it is my firm belief that tonight has been the night of your rebirth. From this point forward, it will be as if your life has begun anew, and you are starting with a clean slate." Splinter smiled, somewhat embarassedly. "This is all talk for another day. First, we must take care of your more immediate needs. Raphael, would you kindly show Rocksteady where to take his bowl?"

Rocksteady looked at Splinter, like he wasn't sure what had just happened. But looking over at Raphael, who nodded in the direction of the kitchen, he decided to just forget it. He picked up his bowl and followed Raphael into the kitchen.

Immediately, Splinter quietly addressed his other three charges. "My sons, Rocksteady is cold, hungry, and directionless. He is going to need as much patience and understanding as it is possible to give. Please do not let him aggrievate you in any way. We must remain kind and helpful at all times." At this point, he put his hand on Michelangelo's shoulder. "For this reason, I believe it best to have Michelangelo deal with him the most, as he has the most positive and upbeat temperment of you four." Looking straight at Michelangelo, he said, "Do not let him upset you, whatever he says."

Michelangelo grinned. "No problem, sensei."

Leonardo started to speak, then stopped. "Hm."

"What is it, my son?"

"Well, I was about to argue that I had an even temperment, too, but I guess that would've proved your point, right?"

Splinter bowed slightly towards Leonardo. "You grow wise, my son." Raphael led Rocksteady back into the main living area, and Splinter smiled slightly. "Now, Michelangelo, will you show our guest to the shower?"

"Sure thing. C'mon, Rocky."

Rocksteady pulled short. "What'd ya call me?" he demanded.

There was a short pause. Michelangelo thought, geez, did I screw up my assignment already? "Um, 'Rocky'. Just shortened your name, kinda. I won't call you that if you don't want me to."

Rocksteady reached down and grabbed the K-Mart bag, trying to organize his thoughts. He finally sighed. "It's...someone else calls me dat. Don't worry 'bout it."

"So...should I call you 'Rocksteady'?" asked Michelangelo hesitantly.

"Nah, Rocky's fine."

"All right, then, Rocky." He led the way down the corridor, with Rocksteady shuffling behind, his head bent down to avoid bonking it on the top of the tunnel.

Donatello watched them leave, then turned and smiled. "Crisis averted."

"For now," said Raphael. "How do we know he's not gonna explode on us?"

Splinter sat back down in front of the fire. "The easy answer, Raphael, is also the correct one. We do not. However, in addition to being an opportunity for Rocksteady, I see this as an opportunity for you four as well."

"How so?" asked Leonardo.

"For the last several years, I have been slowly teaching you various methods with which you might interact with humans. This then will be a test of your social skills."

Raphael considered. "Well, that's fine, as far as that goes. But what happens if we fail the test, and Rocksteady loses it?"

Splinter smiled slightly. "Then, my son, it ceases to be a test of your social skills, and becomes a test of your fighting skills."


	7. VII

"It's not a real shower, actually, but it's as good as one," Michelangelo said over his shoulder. "Donatello rigged it up for us several years back." He thought for a second. "You might want to go easy on it first. We've never had anyone your size in it before."

"No one as freakish big as me, ya mean?" Rocky had to bend his head down to get through the tunnel, which underscored his point.

"Heck, no one normal-sized even," said Michelangelo, not rising to the bait. "It's just us 'n' Splinter down here, and we're all pretty small." He stopped just past a side tunnel, then pointed inside it. "That's it."

Rocky ducked inside to peek around. Like most of the lair, it was poorly lit with a couple strings of small white Christmas lights, but there wasn't much to see, in any case. A largish bench took up one side of the tunnel. On the other side were six pegs, with towels on five of them. The rainwater rushing through the sewers sounded quite a bit louder, but he couldn't see anything that looked like a shower.

Pulling his head back into the main tunnel, Rocky looked at Michelangelo, confused. "Where?"

"Not there," said Michelangelo, pointing back into the tunnel. "Next one down."

Rocky stuck his head back inside and looked to the back of the little room. What he had originally thought was the back of the room was actually a black shower curtain. He walked back in, grabbed the curtain, pulled it aside, and stood staring in the low light. They had installed a metal grate right above a sluice. Rocky could hear (and, if he squinted hard, see) the rainwater rushing down below. There was a small railing around the grate, and up on the wall, a shower head with two levers next to it.

Turning back to look at Michelangelo, Rocky said, "Yous gotta be kiddin' me."

Michelangelo shrugged, and said (a bit loudly, to be heard over the water), "It works. 'f course, you better do what Splinter does."

Rocky walked back into the tunnel so he could hear better. "Say what?"

"Our water heater ain't that big. That's no biggie for me and the others - we can shower in a couple minutes flat. But Splinter's all furry, so it takes him longer. So he turns the water on, wets himself down, turns the water off, scrubs up, then turns the water back on to rinse off. That way, he don't get caught with cold water halfway through."

Blinking, Rocky looked back down the corridor towards the shower. Heck, a hot shower did sound good. He made a waving motion. "You get outta here. Don't wantcha gawkin' at me while I'm in da shower."

Michelangelo grinned crookedly. "No worries. Just toss your dirty clothes in the hall, and I'll wash 'em for you. Oh, and the orange towel in there's mine - go ahead and use that one." He waited a second for a response, but when Rocky walked into the shower room without a word, he shrugged and headed further down the hall to the laundry room. They had found a broken washer and dryer about a year back, and Donatello (naturally) had gotten them working again. Michelangelo sorted through the few dirty things that needed to get washed, trying to figure out what he might wash with Rocky's clothes. After a few seconds, he decided he should probably just wash them separately - they were pretty dirty, and might take more than one time through to get clean.

He glanced back into the hallway, but only saw Rocky's shirt on the floor. Hm, he's had plenty of time to get into the shower, thought Michelangelo. He walked back to the shower room and looked in. Rocky was sitting on the bench, leaning over his boots, grumbling. "Need some help?" Michelangelo asked.

Rocky glanced back up, obviously in a piss-poor mood. "Whadjawant? Hopin' f'r a peek?"

"Nah, just wonderin' what the hold-up is."

Stamping a foot slightly, Rocky said, "These stupid boots - that's what."

"Here, let me take a look." Michelangelo knelt down and examined the first boot. The lace was an almost hopeless tangle of knots, and soaking wet on top of that. After some pulling and tugging, Michelangelo finally managed to get the bootlace untied. "Whew - that's one." He loosened the laces, then lifted Rocky's foot and pulled slightly. The boot didn't budge, and Rocky uttered a quiet grunt. Confused, Michelangelo yanked harder. This time, the boot came off all the way, and Rocky grunted again. Michelangelo was about to reach for the other boot when he noticed Rocky's sock. It was almost completely blood-soaked, dry in some spots but other parts obviously still fresh.

"What the hell?"

"Don't worry 'bout it," muttered Rocky.

"Well, wash it off, and I'll send Splinter down with some medicine."

"Look, I said don't worry 'bout it," said Rocky, rather loudly.

Michelangelo considered. Sensei told me not to argue with him, but this isn't something that should be ignored. How can I get him to agree to it? "Look, this is the sewer. We got every disease on the planet roaming around here." He began tugging the knots out of the other boot. "You leave your foot like that, it'll get infected quicker'n anything. Trust me - you don't want to have Leo have to amputate your foot." He looked up at Rocky, tapping the boot. "Why you wearing these things anyway?"

"Da Shredder gave 'em to me."

Michelangelo waited to hear more, but there didn't appear to be any. "Well, they're messin' up your feet somethin' awful." He began pulling on the laces again. "You probably shouldn't wear them anymore."

"Well, what am I s'posed to wear, then?"

"Same thing as us." Michelangelo paused, stuck up his right foot, and wiggled his toes. "Nothing."

"What 'bout when it gets cold?"

"It's cool. We got socks 'n' sandals."

"Well, I don't, so it looks like I gotta wear the boots, huh?"

Michelangelo smiled to himself. Was I ever this annoying to Splinter? God, I hope not. "We made the socks and sandals, so we can make you some - no problem." He made one final pull, and the laces came free. "OK, hold tight now." He yanked the boot off, revealing a sock as bloody as the other one. He picked up the boots and stood up. "All right. Toss your socks into the hallway with the rest of your clothes. Can't guarantee how clean I'll get 'em, but I'll see what I can do."

Humming to himself, Michelangelo walked back to the main living area. He tossed the boots near the entry way, then took his place by the fire.

Donatello poured him a cup of tea. "How's he doing?"

"All right. Kinda touchy, like Raph in a bad mood." Raphael mock-punched him, and Michelangelo grinned.

"Excellent, my son," said Splinter with a smile. "We must all do our utmost make Rocksteady feel at home here."

"How come?" asked Raphael.

"It is my wish that we can bring Rocksteady back onto our side. Perhaps then he will prove a worthwhile ally."

"Ally?" repeated Donatello. "What...well, forgive me for asking, Sensei, but what sort of ally do you think he'll make?"

"That has yet to be determined, Donatello. But one can never have too many allies. Consider Mitake, April, Casey, Mondo. Allies can come in unexpected shapes and sizes."

"Before I forget, sensei," said Michelangelo. "Rocksteady's feet are all messed up from wearing those boots. Do you have enough herbs to get one of your poultices together?"

"I believe so." Splinter slowly got to his feet, and Leonardo half got up, as well.

"Did you need help, sensei?"

"Thank you, my son. If you will retrieve two bowls for me - the large white one, and the one I use to mix my medicine - that should be sufficient." Splinter turned to the others. "Donatello, Raphael. If you could work on a sleeping arrangement for Rocksteady?"

"We're on it," said Raphael, and Donatello nodded in agreement. Splinter half-bowed to them and made his way to his room, as Leonardo went into the kitchen. Donatello sat frowning for a second.

"Something wrong?" asked Michelangelo.

"It's...I dunno. Strange. It's like having the enemy over for dinner."

Raphael smirked as he got to his feet. "It's exactly like having the enemy over for dinner."

Donatello smiled back. "Yeah, I guess so."

"So...any ideas on the a bed for our honored guest?" Raphael held out his hand, and Donatello grabbed it, getting to his feet.

"Hm. You know where our old beds are?"

"The old rag ones?"

"Yeah."

"Sure," said Raphael uncertainly. "They're in that spare room past the laundry. But aren't those gonna be too small?"

Donatello nodded. "Yeah, but what if we tear off a side of two of them, and connect them?" He held up his hands to indicate their relative positions.

Raphael stared at Donatello's hands, then shrugged. "You're the planner of the group. Let's give it a whirl."

Splinter paused before the shower room entrance. "Rocksteady?" he said, somewhat loudly.

He heard some scuffling, and then Rocky saying, "Geez, doncha guys ever knock?"

Smiling apologetically, Splinter entered the room. Rocky had finished drying off, and had apparently quickly thrown on the sweatpants as Splinter had approached. "Perhaps we should, but there are a decided lack of doors here in the sewers." He knelt down on the floor in front of Rocky. Placing a green towel around his neck, he took the top off a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and then picked up the large white bowl. "If you will please sit down?" he asked, indicating the bench in front of him. Rocky complied, and Splinter lifted his pant legs slightly, examining his feet critically. "I will not lie to you, Rocky. This will most certainly hurt. Feel free to yell out, if you must, but please do not pull away." He lifted one of Rocky's feet over the large white bowl, and began pouring the alcohol over the foot.

"Jesus!" yelled Rocky. "Damn, that hurts!" He didn't pull away, but began breathing hard, almost growling.

"Yes, I apologize," said Splinter somewhat loudly, to be heard over Rocky's groans. He began rubbing the alcohol into his foot as he continued. "You apparently have been wearing those boots for some time. They must have been quite difficult to take off and put on each day."

"Yeah...grrr...well, I us'lly...just...left 'em on...at night."

"You kept them on at all times? A most unwise decision." He patted the foot dry with the towel around his neck, then picked up the other foot and began pouring the alcohol over it. "You must accept the fact that your feet are no longer human-shaped."

"Yeah," said Rocky, gritting his teeth. "I'm a freak now, just like you guys."

"Whether you call yourself a mutant or a freak is unimportant, Rocksteady. You are what you are. Forcing your feet into boots made for human feet will simply cause damage to your feet." Splinter moved the bowl and alcohol to the side, then grabbed the smaller bowl. "This is an herbal poultice - it should speed the healing." He began smearing the concoction onto the feet in front of him.

Rocky didn't know what an "herbal poultice" was, but he did now how it felt - extremely soothing. "Oooh," he said, almost involuntarily. "That feels good."

"Yes," said Splinter, smiling. "An added benefit." He quickly finished applying the poultice to both feet. "Keep your feet raised, please," he said, wiping his hands on the towel. Tearing the seal with his foreclaw, he unwrapped a packaged of gauze and began wrapping the feet.

Rocky stared, surprised at his agility. "Yer pretty good at that."

Splinter indicated his own bound foot. "I have had much practice."

"What happened?" Rocky snorted. "Wear the wrong size boots?"

"No," said Splinter, continuing with the wrapping. "I believe there was a...problem with my mutation. Ever since, this ankle has been rather weak. Keeping it bound gives it more stability." Splinter finished the first foot, tying a small bow at Rocky's large toe. He considered it for a second, then looked up at Rocky with an embarassed smile. "Whenever I had to wrap a wound on one of my sons, I would always end with a small bow. When they were little, I would tell them that it was a butterfly that would ensure that they would heal quickly."

"A butterfly? Cripes, I ain't a kid!"

"I know, but apparently old habits die hard. I put the bow on there without really thinking. If you'd like, I can remove it."

Rocky stared at it for a second, then waved it away. "Ah, forget it." He watched as Splinter opened another package of gauze, but he felt his eyelids getting heavy. Now that he'd had some food and a shower, he was getting really tired. He decided to talk to help keep himself awake. "How long you guys been down here?"

"It has not quite been seven years since we were mutated."

That couldn't be right. "You sayin' them kids is only seven?!"

Splinter smiled. "Not quite. When my sons were first mutated, they were like newborns. However, they very quickly learned to talk and walk. I am not entirely sure what their present ages are, but judging by their growth, temperment and , I would estimate that they are about equivalent to fifteen-year-old human." Splinter reached the end of Rocky's foot, and looked up. "Would you like a second butterfly?"

Rocky snorted. "Heck, may as well make 'em match." He put on the sweatshirt as he mulled that over. Fifteen? Well, it was embarassing to get his butt kicked by a bunch of teenagers, but it sure beat getting beat up by a bunch of seven-year-olds.

Splinter got to his feet, picked up the bowls and handed them to Rocky to carry back. "Please try to keep your feet dry as much as possible. And now, let us see if my sons have prepared your sleeping arrangements." He led the way back down the hall and brought him back into the main living area.

Michelangelo, looking up from assembling the tea cups on the tray, smiled at their approach. "Hey, he's back, rested and ready."

Raphael looked down and smirked. "And he's got butterflies."

Before Rocky could respond, Michelangelo said, loudly, "Hey, cool!" Leaning close to Rocky, he said, "Sometimes it's fun to get stuff like that."

Rocky wasn't exactly placated, but he simply growled, "Maybe when yer little."

"It has been a long evening, my sons," said Splinter, smiling and turning to each of them in turn. "Perhaps I should allow you to sleep a bit later tomorrow morning."

"Eight?" asked Michaelangelo, looking plaintive.

"Seven thirty?" asked Donatello, a bit more hopefully.

"Seven thirty," agreed Splinter. He turned to Rocksteady. "You no doubt have been deprived of good sleep as of late. You may sleep as long as you wish. Donatello, will you show him to his sleeping area?"

"Sure thing. This way." Donatello led Rocksteady back down the hallway, as Splinter turned to Raphael.

"My son, please be careful what you say to our guest."

Michelangelo, sensing a lecture, stole to the kitchen with the tray of teacups. Raphael held up his hands. "What? I didn't mean anything..."

"I know it was not your intention to poke fun at him. But in his current state, if there is any way he can intrepret our words as being mean or vindictive, he will do so. Please do your utmost to be extra kind to him." Raphael sighed, folded his hands, and bowed slightly. Splinter returned the bow, smiling slightly. "Thank you, my son."

Leonardo frowned a bit. "Sensei, what if he's...shamming?"

"Shamming?"  
  
"Yeah. What if this was all an act, to get us to reveal our location?"

Splinter considered for a second. "Do you believe that Rocksteady is capable of such a facade? That he purposefully asked Raphael to kill him, hoping that he would instead invite him home?"

Leonardo frowned some more. "Well, when you put it that way..."

Raphael laughed and slapped Leonardo on the arm. "Don't worry about it, fearless leader. We all make mistakes."

"Indeed," agreed Splinter. "But you do well to question his motives." Turning back to Raphael, he added, "It was a bold step bringing him back here, Raphael."

"Hey, I knew if he started somethin', we could take him out."

"Most likely. But if he left, he could tell others of our location."

Raphael leaned against the wall and folded his arms. "Who would he tell? Shredder's dead, and that other mutant guy's in jail."

"Perhaps the other Foot soldiers."

"There ain't no other Foot soldiers anymore."

Splinter gazed at his disciple in silence for a second. "Let us hope that you are correct, my son." Raphael's eyes got a bit bigger, but he didn't move. Finally, Splinter said, "Enough talk for one evening. It is long past the time we ordinarily retire."

"G'night, sensei."

"Good night, my sons. Do not forget of my love for you."


	8. VIII

Rocky felt himself panicking. He was on the metal slab again, and any second now, the mutation would begin. No!

He jolted awake with a violent start, then looked around with wild eyes. I'm not there, he thought. I'm...I'm in the warehouse. No, wait, one of them turtles took me to their home last night. Or was that a dream? Rocky stared down at his feet, and two bandage butterflies stared back at him. He smiled - no, it was no dream. He sat up a bit and began readjusting himself. The bed wasn't the most comfortable - just a large crate filled with rags, with a few sleeping bags on top, and a blanket on top of that, with an extra folded-up sleeping bag for a pillow - but it sure beat anything else he'd slept in since his mutation. As he lay back down, he faintly heard a clacking sound. He concentrated on it for a bit, and finally figured out what it was - it was those turtles' weapons smacking together. Hm, thought Rocky, they must practice together all the time. No wonder they kicked our butts. Rocky closed his eyes, and as he snuggled down, he contemplated his next move. He remembered greedily the money that the rat kept in his kimono, and contemplated taking that and leaving. But it didn't look like it was all that much, and what would he do when that was gone? Probably be better to stick around for a bit. After all, he had food and a bed here. In time, he'd come up with something better. Rocky eventually nodded back off.

Michelangelo cautiously approached the sleeping mutant. "Rocky?" He put a hand on his shoulder and jostled him slightly. "Rocky?"

With a loud snort (Michelangelo leapt back a bit), Rocky's eyes flew open. "Wha'? Whazzat?"

"Hey. We know we told you you could sleep as long as you wanted, but we thought you might not want to miss lunch."

"Lunch?" Rocky sat up, and opening his mouth wide, gave a tremendous yawn. "Yeah. Yeah, lunch."

"Cool. I brought your clothes if you want to change. See ya in a bit." Michelangelo headed back down the hall, whistling.

Rocky looked down at the foot of his bed. His clothes were clean and folded. He picked up his pants, then looked down at the sweatshirt he was wearing. Ah, I'll just wear these, he thought. Putting his pants back down, he pushed the blanket off, then swung his legs down over the edge of the bed. Slowly, he got to his feet, then headed down the hallway. After a few wrong turns, he found the kitchen. Splinter and three of the turtles were sitting along a makeshift counter, all with plates in front of them.

"Hey, he's up," said Donatello.

"Yeah? So?"

"So...good news?" said Donatello hesitantly. "Because now we can all eat?"

"Correct," said Splinter. "Rocky, if you'd take a seat?" They had moved a large barrel to the end of the counter, and Rocky took his place there.

Michelangelo walked up next to him. "Not exactly my finest creation," he said. "But we're a bit low on food, so I had to work with what was left." He set a plate down in front of him, and Rocky examined it eagerly. Two sandwiches (the turtles each only got one) with some macaroni and cheese on the side. Rocky peeked inside the sandwich - cream cheese, cucumbers, lettuce, tomato. No meat? Ah well. Food's food. He picked one up and took a large bite. The turtles, seeing this, followed suit. Rocky absently listened to the turtles talking through the meal - it was mostly martial arts talk, which left him completely out of it. But that was probably just as well - Rocky wasn't exactly feeling chatty.

After everyone had finished, Leonardo collected the plates. As he did so, Splinter turned to the rest of his charges. "Now, my sons, you remember where you are in your studies?"

Raphael said, "Yeah, still stuck in algebra-land."

"I've got a bit more to do in history," Michelangelo said. "But I can go on ahead if I've gotta."

"Excellent," said Splinter. "Please make a note of anything you do not understand. If you will begin your studies on your own, I will join you later." The turtles filed into the study, then Splinter turned back to Rocky. "Now, Rocksteady, it is time to determine what your next move should be."

Rocky drained his water glass, then swallowed. "Easy," he growled. "Find the Foot doctor."

"Find...find a foot doctor?" repeated Splinter, uncertainly. "Your feet should heal of their own accord within a few days..."

Rocky slammed his open palm against the counter, causing the things on top to jump. "No, ya stupid rat! Not a foot doctor - th' doctor what was with th' Foot!"

Splinter was rather disheartened. Rocksteady had appeared to be acting almost polite towards them, but this outburst over a rather understandable mistake seemed to indicate that there was quite a bit of hostility underneath. However, Splinter simply said, "Oh, the doctor that was with the Foot. What was his name?"

"Dunno."

"Oh. What does he look like?"

"Tallish - well, he seemed tallish before. Grey hair, glasses."

Splinter thought, that describes nearly half the doctors in America, but out loud, he said, "And why do you wish to find him?"

"He c'n change me back."

"He can?" Splinter felt his hopes leap up. A doctor that can undo mutations? Perhaps he would not be fated to remain a rat for the rest of his life. But his rational side knew that this wasn't a likely possibility. "Are...are you certain of this?"

Rocky nodded. "Mm-hm. Th' Shredder said so."

"Hm. When did he say this?"

"Soon after I was freakified. I told 'im I didn't like it none, and he said after I killed you 'n' dem turtles, he'd switch me back."

Splinter found it disconcerting to have his murder discussed in such a blase fashion, but he continued to play it cool. "Well, could it be possible that he was not being truthful?"

"Whadja mean?"

"Did the Shredder strike you as someone as being particularly truthful? Could he have been lying? In order to motivate you to...kill us?"

Rocky considered briefly. Could the Shredder have lied to him? Immediately, he shook his head. "No way," he said, wanting to believe it.

Splinter wasn't fooled. He is telling me what he wishes were true. He knows as I do that the Shredder dealt in lies quite often. But was it possible? Could the Foot have had a doctor who could reverse mutations? Splinter got up and walked to the door. "Donatello?"

Donatello had just opened his books, but hadn't truly begun studying. "What's up?"

"Would you rejoin us here, please?" Splinter walked back to his seat as Donatello came to the doorway. "Rocksteady has stated that there was a doctor with the Foot who could reverse mutations."

"Really?" Donatello frowned. "That doesn't sound right."

Rocky snorted. "What do you know 'bout it?"

"Not much," admitted Donatello. "I've read a couple books, a few articles...but everything I read seemed to indicate it's a one-way proposition. You can go one way, but not the other."

"This doctor could do it."

"Well...it's just that...mutations are the combination of two DNA strands. A mutation...here, look." Donatello walked to the fridge, opened it, and took out a carton of milk and a bottle of orange juice. Placing them on the counter, he then picked up two glasses from the sink. He poured a small quantity of milk into one, and a similar amount of juice into the other. "OK, say the milk is standard human DNA, and the orange juice is the rhinoceros DNA they mutated you with." Rocky nodded, so Donatello went on. "So, to mutate you, they basically did this." He poured the juice into the milk, and swirled it around a bit.

Rocky said, "Yeah, so?"

"So?" Donatello put the glasses in front of Rocky. "Undo it."

"Huh?"

"Put the orange juice back in the other glass."

Rocky stared at the glasses, then shrugged. "I dunno. How?"

"That's just it. I don't know, either. Well, I suppose I could get the juice out of there using some sort of chemical means, but it's gonna be a much more complicated process than mixing them together was. It's the same thing with mutations. It's simple - well, simpler, anyway - to mutate. You just get two strands of DNA, and a really strong mutagen, and the two strands sort of re-form into a new one. To undo a mutation, you'd have to look at the mutated strand, and extract the alien DNA - the rhino DNA, in your case - bit by bit. I guess it's theoretically possible, but you're talking about something just this side of impossible."

"I see," said Splinter. He was a bit crestfallen, but it more or less confirmed what he believed was the case. "Excellent explanation, Donatello. You may return to your studies now."

"Better clean up my experiment first," said Donatello with a small grin. He emptied the glasses into the sink, then put the two containers away before heading back into the other room.

Splinter turned back to Rocky. "Perhaps the doctor can undo mutations. Hotever, you do not have much information with which to find him. Perhaps you should consider that a long term search, and we can decide what you should do in the interim." Seeing Rocky shrug, Splinter hazarded, "Well, what would you like to do?"

"Dunno. Find anudder gang to join, I guess."

Frowning slightly, Splinter said, "Have you not learned that lesson yet?"

Rocky frowned back. "Whadja mean?"

"Rocksteady, it was your gang involvement that led to your mutation, to all your recent problems, and eventually to your suicidal tendencies of last night. Why is this something you would wish to continue pursuing?"

Waving his hand at Splinter, Rocky said, "Look, you ain't my ma or nuttin', so don't bother wit' da speechin'."

"I'm afraid you do not have a choice, really."

Rocky stopped short and blinked. "Huh?"

"We have offered you food, shelter, and protection. I do not ask much in return, but I do insist you listen to what I have to tell you."

Rocky smirked. "Listen, rat boy, you can't make me do nuttin'. If I wanted ta, I could snap ya in half, take yer money, and just head out, y'know."

Although Splinter was expecting something of the sort to occur, he was surprised how quickly this was coming to a head. "Is that what you wish?"

"What?"

"Is that what you wish?" Splinter repeated.

Rocky considered. "I guess not. You were nice 'n' all, givin' me food an' stuff. Ya didn't hafta. So I wouldn't go beatin' on ya. But skip the preachin' - I ain't in the mood." Rocky stood up, and Splinter quickly got up and stood in his path. Rocky laughed as Splinter adopted a fighting stance. "You're kiddin', right?"

"No, Rocksteady, I am not. As I stated, you will listen to what I have to say to you."

"Well, then, perhaps I'm gonna hafta snap ya in half anyways, then." Rocky leaned down to grab Splinter, and within three seconds was on the floor, panting.

Rocky saw Splinter's tail flicking near his face as he heard him say, in the same calm voice, "Now, will you attend to me?"

"Yeah, yeah," said Rocky. "Jus' lemme..." Rocky tried to lurch over and grab Splinter's legs, but Splinter deftly leapt over him and applied a kick to an exposed pressure point. Rocky moaned in pain. Splinter knelt down, grabbed his walking stick and pressed it against another point in Rocky's neck. Rocky's eyes bulged, and Splinter saw the fear there.

"You may as well submit, Rocksteady. I will earn your respect - one way or the other." Splinter applied a bit more pressure, and Rocky gurgled. "Do I have your respect, Rocksteady?"

"Uh..."

Again, Splinter leaned down slightly, and the fear in Rocky's eyes became panic. "Do I have your respect, Rocksteady?"

"Yeah! Yeah! Ya got it!"

Splinter released his hold and stood up. Looking over, he saw Leonardo in the doorway, with the others behind. He waved them away, and they resumed their seats at the desk. Turning back to Rocky, who remained in a fetal position on the ground, Splinter said, "You could not defeat my sons before. You should not have believed that you could defeat their teacher." Rocky didn't answer, so Splinter went on. "As I have stated, Rocksteady, I do not ask much from you. You will simply listen when I talk to you. Is that understood?" Rocky nodded, but his eyes were closed, and Splinter saw a few tears rolling from them. Splinter knelt down and placed his hand on Rocky's shoulder. "All is forgiven, Rocksteady. Come, let us get you up." He pulled on his shoulder gently, and helped Rocky back onto his seat.

Leaning into the study, Splinter said, "Can you do well without me for a while?"

The turtles looked among each other, then nodded. "Yeah, I guess so," said Raphael for the group.

"Excellent." Splinter came back into the kitchen and sat down facing Rocky. "And so now your training begins."

"What trainin'?" said Rocky, rubbing his sore neck with one hand, and wiping his face with the other.

Splinter thought for a second, then said, "I suppose you could call it life training. I must teach you much of what I taught my sons, but it would appear I must first help you unlearn what you have taught yourself. We may as well begin with what were we discussing before. You apparently still do not see why being a Foot soldier was wrong. Therefore, we will start there."

Numbly, Rocky stared at Splinter, resigned to his fate. This wasn't turning out quite the way he thought it would.

As the days went on, Rocky's life fell into a pattern. Mornings he was sort of left to himself, and there wasn't a lot to do down in the turtle's lair. They didn't own a TV or any video games. They had a couple of radios, but the reception wasn't that great - and the turtles seemed to think that they should be tuned to the oldies station, not exactly Rocky's cup of tea. He usually spent the mornings reading. The evening after Rocky's arrival had been Donatello's traditional weekly trip to the library, and Donatello had decided to pick up some books for Rocky, in addition to ones for everyone else. Not having any idea what kind of books Rocky might like, he ended up getting him a large and varied selection. Rocky thumbed through most of them before settling on one - a mideval fantasy concerning the elven empire fighting off encroaching dragons. It seemed an odd choice - it was the last thing Donatello had grabbed - but Rocky seemed satisfied with it. At least, while the turtles practiced their martial arts, he sat in the living room alone with it.

Come lunch time, Rocky would quietly eat his lunch (twice as big as the turtles', but still only about half as much as what he wanted). The turtles occasionally tried to get him involved in their lunch conversation, but most of their questions were answered with monosyllables or shrugs. It was obvious he was dreading what was coming next, because after lunch, Rocky would slink into Splinter's room and sit glumly in silence as Splinter continued his "life training". To Rocky, it seemed like a continual harangue at everything he had done since he had turned fourteen. Splinter attempted to get him to discuss his past openly and honestly, to really think about what he had done, but he could tell that most of the time, Rocky was simply enduring this than really examining his life.

It was the sixth day when things finally began to change. Splinter had asked him to think of all the people he had caused pain to over the years.

"Well, th' targets."

"The targets?" Splinter echoed.

"Yeah, y'know. Whoever Jutaro'd send us after."

"Oh. Well, certainly, you caused them much physical pain. Is there no one you caused emotional pain to as well?" Rocky shrugged, so Splinter persisted. "Can you think of anyone? Anyone who was close to you? Whom you may have...hurt emotionally?"

Rocky looked down and shrugged. "Ma."

Splinter wasn't sure he heard that correctly. "Your..."

Looking back up, Rocky said, "Ma. My mom. Yeah, she was pretty sore when I took up with th' DKs."

"Undoubtedly. Is there anyone else you may have hurt? Let down?"

"Let down?" repeated Rocky, half-snorting. How could he let anyone down when he hardly had anyone counting on him to start with? He hardly had much interaction with anyone since his mutation. Him and Bebop were...

Suddenly, Rocky pulled short. Bebop.

For many months, it had been them against the world. And wasn't it Bebop who did almost all the work? It was him that scavanged Foot HQ. It was him that took the booty to the pawnshop and forced the guy to give them money for it. It was him that bought the food. And, perhaps most importantly, it was him that kept Rocky going, kept his spirits up, kept him sane. Once Bebop was gone, Rocky's entire life fell apart.

And what had he ever done for Bebop? Bitched and complained, mainly.

"What is it, Rocksteady?" asked Splinter quietly, sensing he was close to something.

"It's...nuttin'. Bebop."

"Bebop," repeated Splinter. "He is the other mutant...and your friend, correct?"

"Yeah. We's pretty good pals since...well, since we joined up wit' da Foot. He kinda...well, a couple times I thought I was gonna lose it, an' he always made everythin' OK, y'know?"

"Assuredly. That is what good friends do. But you feel you may have hurt him in some way?"

"I dunno. Prolly. I guess...I never really...was all dat nice to him or nuttin', ya know? He always was doin' stuff f'r us - gettin' food an' all. An' I never did that much for him."

"So you feel you let him down?"

"I guess. I mean, after all he did f'r me...an' now he's in jail 'n' all, y'know?" Rocky hung his head down.

"Is there nothing you can do for him now?"

Rocky looked back up and threw his hands up. "What can I do f'r 'im now? He's in jail!"

"Yes. But perhaps he needs you now more than ever before."

Rocky thought that over. What if it was him, instead of Bebop? He wasn't crazy about his living arrangement right now, but it probably beat whatever jail is like. At least he could kind of do what he wanted, sometimes, and he had others to talk to, even if it was other mutants.

"Whadda ya think I should do?"

"Perhaps you should find out. Go see him and see if he needs anything."

"Go see 'im? In jail?"

"Yes."

Rocky looked shocked. "They'll toss me in, too!"

"Is there an outstanding warrant for your arrest?"

Rocky thought. "Don't think so."

"Then they won't arrest you. Unless you give them cause to arrest you, so we will make certain that they don't."

"How?"

"We will deal with that in a bit. First things first. Do you know where Bebop is being held?" Rocky shook his head, and Splinter smiled slightly. "Then it would appear I need to call in a favor. If you'll excuse me a moment?"

Splinter slowly got to his feet and headed out of the room. Rocky sighed and thought. Would it be so bad to visit Bebop? As much as the thought of jail scared him, he did like the idea of seeing Bebop again. And maybe the rat guy was right - maybe he could do something for him.

Rocky looked back up as Splinter came back in. "So?"

"We'll have your answer shortly, I believe."

"How so?"

"I have placed a call with April O'Neil. She will determine where he's being held, and when you can go see him."

"April...oh, yeah, that reporter lady."

"Exactly. She has yet to fail me, and so let us assume that you will get to see him. Therefore, we must work on making sure you are not put in prison with him."

For the next several hours, Splinter placed Rocky in many different potential situations. If he had to take the bus or subway to the prison, how not to aggrievate anyone there. How to act when people stared at him. What to say if someone from his past confronted him. How to appear as non-threatening as possible to the people at the prison. Rocky's initial reactions rarely pleased Splinter - Rocky seemed determined to be as belligerent as possible at times, whereas Splinter pleaded for him to take a more obsequeous tack.

After hearing another such suggestion by Splinter, Rocky snorted and rolled his eyes. "It's like ya want me to be a wimp all da time."

Splinter smiled a bit. "Perhaps a demonstration is in order. Observe. Hold up your index fingers, pointing at each other." Rocky complied. "Now push them against each other." Rocky stuck his tongue out and brought his fingers together. "Push harder." Rocky's fingers bent slightly, and they began wobbling. "Harder." Grunting slightly, Rocky pushed as hard as he could, and his fingers bent more. "Enough." Rocky brought the fingers back to their original position.

Splinter spread his hands. "So what has happened?"

"Uh...nothing?"

"Exactly. You wasted a fair amount of effort, and nothing was gained." Splinter put his hand on Rocky's left hand, pulling the left finger slightly below the other. "Now, push." Rocky's fingers moved by each other. "You see?"

"Um, not really."

"When you move one finger out of the way, when you stop resisting, they move along very easily."

"Yeah. So?"

"Life is much like this. You can resist at every turn if you so desire," Splinter began, putting his fingers together and pushing. "But this will often lead to wasted effort, and with no gain. You can be confrontational with the bus driver, the passers-by, the prison guards. But what will this gain you?" Splinter moved one finger down, and the fingers glided by. "If you do not resist when there is no reason to resist, both they and you can go about your business, with no wasted effort." Rocky stared at his fingers for a few seconds. "Do you understand, Rocksteady?"  
  
"I dunno. I guess. It's just - it still sounds like you're makin' me be a wimp."

Splinter smiled again. "Would you consider me a wimp?"

Rocky considered. "Nah. Well, not since we mixed it up in da kitchen."

"Excuse me." Rocky turned and, seeing saw Leonardo behind him, moved out of the way slightly. "Thanks. Dinner's almost ready, sensei."

"Thank you, my son. We will join you shortly." We waited until Leonardo had left, then turned back to Rocky. "You see? It is not so difficult."

"Huh?"  
  
"When Leonardo came behind you, you moved aside so that he could speak with me."

"Uh-huh."

"Most of the time, this is all that is necessary. To allow others to function around you."

"Hm."

"Consider it well, Rocksteady. For now, we will have dinner." He stood up and indicated Rocky to lead him out of his room.


	9. IX

Rocky leaned against the brick wall of the alley and closed his eyes for a second. How did he get himself into these messes? He should've just kept his mouth shut about Bebop, but it was too late now. He was committed to going. Unless...briefly he considered running off, but where would he go? He thought back to the days just before Raphael found him. No, he didn't want to go back to that. Guess I'm stuck, then.

An old black pick-up truck pulled up to the end of the alleyway. Rocky took a deep breath, then quickly walked over, opened the passenger door, got in, and slammed it behind him. As he expected, it was a tight fit. Casey looked over at him, rather calmly under the circumstances. Geez, Casey thought to himself, after the turtles, nothing fazes me anymore. "You ready?" he asked, and Rocky nodded once. Casey waited for an opening in traffic, then pulled out into the street. As they stopped at the red light at the end of the street, a yellow sports car pulled up along side of them. The driver was bopping along to some song on the radio, but upon noticing Rocky, stopped and gaped. He tapped the passenger, who had to lean all the way over him to take a look.

Rocky growled slightly. "They're gawkin' at me."

Casey shrugged as the light turned green, and he pulled away. "You're somethin' to gawk at. Somethin' different. That's pretty rare in New York." Rocky turned to face forward and sighed. After sitting in silence for a few minutes, Casey glanced over at him. "You okay?" Rocky shrugged, and Casey decided not to pursue it any further.

After making the way across the bridge, Casey found a parking spot and got out of the car, then waitied as Rocky reluctantly opened the door and joined him. Spying the sign for "Visitors", Casey walked towards the building. He opened the door and ushered Rocky inside. Both guards behind the station took one look at Rocky and immediately reached for their guns. Stay calm, thought Rocky, recalling all the things Splinter had taught him. Keep your arms down at your sides. Open your hands a bit, so they know there's nothing in them. Smile slightly. Talk politely. "Hi," he said, from memory. "I'd like to see one of the inmates, please."

Casey looked over at him. This didn't sound like the gruff creature whom he had met down in the lair, or even the sullen creature he just drove over here.

The guards glanced at each other, and then looked back at Rocky. The taller one nodded slowly at him. "Who are you here to see?"

"Bebop...um, I mean, Bob. Bob Youngblood."

One guard guffawed. "Shoulda guessed that one." Once more, the guards exchanged glances. "I better check with the warden - make sure it's OK."

Rocky was upset, but he took a breath and smiled slightly again. "Fine. OK." As the guard radioed it in, Rocky looked over at Casey uncertainly, who smiled back a bit. Rocky began rocking himself on his feet a bit, nervously waiting. Casey took a seat on a bench, looking far more relaxed.

Finally the guard got his answer, and he turned back to Rocky. "One of us will have to escort you down."

Casey said, "That's cool. Look, I'll wait for you here."

Rocky turned to him, and didn't know what to say. He was expecting Casey to go down with him. "Um...OK."

The guard indicated a guestbook. "Gotta sign in first." Rocky stepped up and glanced it over. As he reached for the pen, he realized, geez, I haven't written anything since I got freakafied. I wonder if I still can. And I don't even know what name to sign. He carefully fit the pen into his oversized fist, then, sticking his tongue out in concentration, scrawled "Rocky Rodriguez", almost fitting it into the space provided. It wasn't pretty, but it would have to do.

"This way," said the guard.

The guard fell in step behind Rocky, except to open a few doors, and Rocky felt more and more like he was entering something that he wasn't coming out of. Finally, he was led to a chair across from a glass panel. Rocky sat down carefully - he didn't want to break the chair - and waited, trying to keep himself from freaking out. Relax, he thought, trying to remember what Splinter taught him. A few minutes later, a door behind the panel opened, and a figure appeared in the doorway. Rocky grinned. The figure was wearing a huge orange jumpsuit, and the pink was gone from his hair, but it was obviously Bebop. A guard more or less pushed Bebop out of the doorway and into the visitor room. Bebop looked back at him, snorted, then turned to face his visitor. His eyes instantly lit up. "Rocky!" he mouthed through the glass.

Rocky grinned and grabbed the phone. Placing it up to his ear, he noticed that it didn't quite reach around to his mouth, and he frowned.

"Don't worry 'bout it," said Bebop. "I c'n still hear ya."

Again, Rocky grinned goofily. "Hey-a, Bebop."

"Rocky! Damn, it's good to see ya!"

"Same here, buddy! You doin' OK?"

"Listen, Rocky, you gotta do sumpin' for me."

Rocky's ears perked up. This is what he came for! "Sure thing."

"You gotta talk to my lawyer. She says mebbe you can convince the judge why I was knockin' over dat store."

"Uh...'cause we didn't have nothin' left to eat?"

"Yeah! Exactly! If we can get the judge to un'erstand that we was in piss-poor shape, I might not have to spend so long in here."

Rocky nodded. "Sure. Where's yer lawyer?"

Bebop turned to the guard and spoke briefly to him. Turning back to Rocky, he said, "They'll getcha her card. Make sure ya call her, K?"

"I will," promised Rocky. "Promise." Again, Rocky grinned. Sure, he was in jail, but it was still good to see his friend again. "Man, I missed ya, Bebop. How ya doin'?"

Bebop shrugged. "It's jail, y'know? Could be worse. At least get three squares a day, and the other guys leave me alone." He held up his shackled wrists. "Gotta wear these all th' time, though, and dey got a separate guard jus' f'r me."

"Cripes, how come?"

"'Cause I'm stupid, I guess. When I first got in, soon after they pulled th' slugs outta me, they were sorta pushin' me around. I got mad an' pushed back. Now they're scared I'm gonna go bezerk on 'em."

"Don't, Bebop. I wantcha out and back wit' me."

Bebop smiled lopsidedly. "Yeah, that'd be cool. Jus' like it usedta be. Might be awhile, though."

"Don't worry. I'll talk to yer lawyer, and we'll getcha out soon."

"Thanks." Bebop considered Rocky for a minute in silence. "You're lookin' OK, Rocky. Tell da truth, I thought you'd be kinda lost wit'out me - I was worried 'boutcha."

Rocky snorted a small laugh. "Actually, you were right, sorta. I did kinda lose it f'r a few days. Didn't know what I was gonna do."

"So whadja end up doin'?"

"Y'ain't gonna believe it." Bebop shook his head, and Rocky went on. "I been shackin' up wit' dem turtles."

"What?!"

"Yeah, crazy, huh?" Rocky was so exctied to be talking to Bebop again, he began to ramble a bit. "They're...well, they ain't bad. Sorta nerdy, an' there ain't a lot to do there - no TV or nuttin'. But they got me a bed an' they feed me three times a day - 'course they don't feed me anywhere near enough, but I'm kinda gettin' used to it. Their leader - y'know, da one what killed da Shredder - he's a rat, kinda quiet, but he c'n kick major butt. He said he's gonna help me get a job 'n' everythin', but I dunno about all dat..." He suddenly noticed the look on Bebop's face, and sort of trailed off. "What?"

"Nuttin'. It's jus'...well, woulda been nice to know earlier on, huh?"

"Nice to know what?"

"Dat dem turtles was all right." Bebop snorted. "Then I wouldn't be in here, huh?"

"Oh." Rocky considered that a minute, and Bebop stood up.

"Look, I gotta go."

"Really? OK. Well, I'll talk to yer lawyer, Bebop."

"Yeah, you do dat," said Bebop, heavy on the sacrasm. "Y'know, if y'ain't too busy hangin' out wit' yer new friends." Bebop hung up the phone, nodded to the guard and walked off.

Slowly, Rocky hung up the phone and got to his feet. In a daze, he accept the business card from the guard, then headed out the door.

Casey fell in step with Rocky as he came out of the building. "Everything OK?"

"Uh. Yeah, I think so."

Casey shrugged and led him back to the truck. On the way home, he noticed that although Rocky was just as quiet on the way back as he was on the way out, it seemed to be a different kind of quiet. He seemed more lost in thought than depressed.

Casey dropped Rocky off at the alleyway, and Rocky gave him a mumbled "thanks" before slamming the door closed. He lifted the manhole cover, squeezed down into the hole (it was a tight fit), then made his way back to the lair. It was apparent the other mutants had already finished dinner - Donatello was doing dishes in the kitchen. "Hey. We left you some pizza - it's in the fridge."

"Uh, thanks. Mebbe later. Where's Splin'er?"

"In his room, painting."

"'s it...is it OK if I go talk to him?"

"Sure." Donatello put another plate in the drying rack. "Just don't sneak up on him - if you scare him, you can mess up his painting."

"OK. Whadda ya do when ya wanna talk to him?"

"What do I...? Nothing - I just go talk to him."

"Isn't dere this thing where ya...kneel down 'r somethin'?"

"Oh. Well, that's sort of a formal thing, when we have something really important to talk about. But I wouldn't bother with that."  
  
"'K." He started to head out, but then stuck his head back in the kitchen. "Um, thanks." Turning back to the hall, he took a side passage and stood in the entryway to Splinter's room. It wasn't very large - room for a futon, a small table, and a stool where he sat and painted.

Splinter looked up from his work and smiled. "Hello, Rocksteady." Rocky stepped into the room, knelt down and bowed his head. Splinter was surprised, but as always, he took it in stride. He put his brush down, pushed his stool aside, knelt down and bowed in return. Coming back up, he gently said, "What is it, Rocksteady?"

Rocky raised his head. "Um, I know the turtles sit like this when they got something special to talk t'ya 'bout."

"Yes?"

"First off, is it OK if I don't stay like this? My knees are killin' me."

Splinter supressed a laugh, but could not hide his smile. "Of course. Sit any way you wish."

Rocky swung his legs in front and crossed them. "Whew, that's better. Um, I got in t'see Bebop."

"Excellent. How is he?"

"Um, OK, I guess. He wants me t'call his lawyer - he thinks that'll get 'im out quicker."

"Then, by all means, do so."

"I will. Tomorrow mornin' - it's kinda late now."

Rocky rubbed the back of his neck uncertainly. Splinter knew there was more that he wished to say, so he coaxed him gently. "Please go on."

"He...well, Bebop was kinda...sore, like. Mad. Y'know, 'cause now I'm here and doin' OK an' everything, and he's stuck in jail, when all he was tryin' t' do was keep us goin'."

"Bebop must face the consequences for what he has done."

"But he was doin' it f'r me!"

"That does not matter. He attempted to rob a store, and he got caught. Certainly he knew he go to jail if he got caught robbing a store?"

"But...we hadta! We didn't have any choice!"  
  
"Really? You did not have a choice at all?"

"Well, steal 'r starve. That ain't much o' one."

Splinter smiled slightly. "Consider your position now. Are you stealing?"

"No..."

"Are you starving?"

"No..."

Splinter's smile grew bigger. "So apparently, there was another way." Rocky opened his mouth to respond, but then thought better of it. Splinter went on, "You did not force Bebop to go rob the store. He did it of his own volition. There were other choices, but he chose to rob the store. Therefore he must face the consequences of his actions."

Rocky shrugged. "Doesn't seem fair."

"Yes. But perhaps there is a lesson to be learned from this, if you care to find it."

"Hm." Rocky made a move as if to stand up, but then suddenly checked himself. "Um, I kinda...got something else I wanna say."

"Yes, Rocksteady?"

"Um...I did a lot o' thinkin' on th' way home. Um, Bebop kinda made me realize that...I got it pretty good down here. Y'know, you guys take good care o' me - feedin' me 'n' all, and I ain't been really nice about it or nuttin'. An', um, I'm sorry 'bout that."

Splinter smiled. "All is forgiven, Rocksteady. However, it would perhaps be best if you apologized to each of the others, as well."

Rocky's face took on a very pained expression. "Geez, do I gotta?"

"Well, they have been the most inconvenienced by your behavior."

Sighing, Rocky said, "Yeah, I guess you're right."

Splinter smiled. "You appear to be ready to take responsibility for your own actions, as well. I believe it may be time to begin working on getting you a job."

"Really? How ya gonna do that?"

"I have talked with both Casey and April, and I believe it is indeed possible for you to re-enter the workforce. You told me early you held a job before...at a sandwich shop?" Rocky nodded. "And how did you find that?"

"Uh...I didn't like it much."

Splinter smiled slightly. "First jobs are rarely well-liked. Food service is perhaps not what you are best suited for."

Rocky snorted. "What th'heck am I suited for?"

"Consider, Rocky. You have strength above and beyond most humans. Certainly that might be exploited to your advantage. But I believe we need to work first on getting you prepared. Tomorrow, we will begin your training in earnest."

Rocky sighed. He didn't know what all that meant, but he had a feeling it involved a lot of hard work, and he was pretty sure he wasn't going to like it. 


	10. X

"All right, now," said Splinter. "Let us start again, from the beginning."

Rocky sighed and walked back to his barrel. He sat down and attempted to not look too bored.

April walked in from the study. "Mister Rodriguez?"

Rocky looked up, smiling slightly. "Yeah?"

"I'm April O'Neil." She held out her hand, and Rocky got to his feet and shook it gently. "Won't you come in?" Rocky followed her into the study, sitting down across from her.

"Now, Mister Rodriguez, why don't you tell me why you're applying here at O'Neil Incorporated?"

"Um, I feel like I've got a lot t'offer your company." Rocky stole a glance at Splinter, who nodded in encouragement. He tried to remember everything he was supposed to say. "Um, I'm a hard worker...and I'm reliable...and I'm pretty strong, too."

"Yes, I can see," said April. "I don't see any employment history for the last two years. What's the story there?"

"Well, see, I got freakified awhile back..."

"No, Rocksteady," said Splinter gently. "I would avoid using the word 'freakafied'."

"Well, whaddam I s'posed to say, then?"

"Perhaps use the word 'mutated'."

Rocky rolled his eyes, but turned back to April. "Not long ago, I mutated...into...what...I am now?" he said questioningly, looking over at Splinter. Splinter nodded, and Rocky went on. "So...it's been tough. Trying to get my life back together. I think I'm finally ready to go back to work now."

"Excellent," said Splinter.

"I see. Do you have a list of references?"

"Yeah, right here." He pulled a piece of paper out of a folder, and handed it over, clumisly knocking over a pencil cup while doing so. Frustrated, Rocky slammed his hand down on the table.

"Rocksteady, relax. You must allow for small mistakes to be made," said Splinter.

"But I keep messin' up!"

"Indeed. This is to be expected. Mistakes are always made."

Rocky slumped down on his seat. "Then why bother?"

"Rocky, it is a good idea to aim for perfection, but you must never expect to achieve it." Splinter put his hand on Rocky's shoulder. "It is how you deal with the mistakes, the problems that arise, that will truly show others your worth."

Sighing, Rocky asked, "What's that mean?"

"The true test of a human is not when things go right, but when things go wrong. Consider your life with the Foot. When things were going well, you had no shortage of friends, correct?" Rocky nodded. "But when the Foot began falling apart, when you attempted to...take us out, and failed?"

Rocky snorted. "Ain't nobody talked to us 'cept to boss us around. It was just me 'n' Bebop."

"Exactly. And during difficult times, it was Bebop who stood by you, and helped keep your spirits up." He let Rocky think about that for a second, then went on. "Bebop truly proved himself in the face of adversity. And soon, in your own way, you will be facing adversity, as well. People will judge you based on how you handle this adversity, and this will help them decide if you're worth having as an employee."

A piercing sound cut through Splinter's calm words. April fumbled for her purse and pulled out her cell phone. "Hello?" she asked. "Yeah...well, I'm kinda...in the middle of something....yeah...no, I can be there...sure thing. See ya in a bit." She disconnected the phone and looked up at Rocky and Splinter. "Looks like I've got a story to get on..."

"That's quite all right, April," said Splinter. "Thank you for taking the time to help us." He walked her to the exit. "You will forgive me if I remind you again to keep your eyes and ears open?"

"Of course. I'll tell Casey, too."

Splinter bowed deeply. "I am forever in your debt, Ms O'Neil."

April always felt a bit embarassed when Splinter got so polite. "Look, it's no problem. Say goodbye to the guys for me."

"I will. Farewell." Splinter watched her leave, then turned back to Rocky. "As we were discussing your friend, perhaps this would be an ideal time for you to make your phone call."

Rocky flinched a bit. "Oh, yeah."

Splinter, surprised, said, "You seem...reluctant to call." Rocky shrugged, but Splinter pressed. "Why is that?"

"It's...I dunno. I don't like...getting involved."

"Even though your friend's freedom may be at stake?"

"Oh, I'll do it, it's just...oh, forget it."

"I believe I understand, Rocksteady." Splinter indicated a cell phone, plugged into an outlet on the kitchen counter. "You will need to leave the phone plugged in - it aids the reception immeasurably."

As Rocky picked up the phone, Splinter heard a yell coming from down the tunnel. He immediately hurried to the dojo. He found Donatello down on one knee, his head down in his hands. Leonardo was on his knees, next to him, while Michelangelo and Raphael looked on, somewhat worriedly.

"What has happened, my sons?" asked Splinter.

"I was sparrin' with Don," explained Michelangelo, "and he missed a block. My chuck got him right in the eye."

Leonardo looked up at Splinter with a pained expression. "It's all my fault, sensei. I should've watched them more carefully, told them to be more careful."

Splinter indicated for Leonardo to move out of the way. As Leonardo got up, Splinter smiled at him slightly. "Do not blame yourself, my son." He lowered himself to his knees and moved Donatello's hand so he could examine the injury more closely. Donatello was tearing up quite a bit, and the eye was very red, but Splinter could not see any blood. He let his breath out, not even realizing he had been holding it. "How do you feel, my son?"

"It stings a lot, and my head's still ringing a bit."

"Is your eye still functional?" Splinter covered Donatello's other eye with his hand, and Donatello tried to force his eye open to look.

"It's pretty blurry, but I can see."

"Excellent. Your eye does not appear to have suffered too much injury. It appears your cheek absorbed most of the blow. You will probably have some bruising in that area. It'd be best for you to place ice on it, and rest. Would you prefer to lie down?"

Donatello considered. "No, I think I'm all right."

"Very well. We will consider practice over for the day. Raphael, if you'll fetch the ice pack, please?" Raphael bowed quickly and headed out. "And Michelangelo, please assist Donatello into the kitchen."

Michelangelo walked over, leaned down and put his hand under Donatello's arm. "Dude, I am so sorry."

Donatello managed a quick smile. "Hey, don't sweat it. I can handle it. I'm a ninja, remember?" Michelangelo laughed as he aided Donatello out of the dojo.

Splinter turned to Leonardo, who still had a worried look about him. Smiling, he put his hand gently on Leonardo's arm. "All is well, my son. You must not blame yourself. The only way to completely avoid injury in martial arts training is to not participate." Leonardo smiled back, and Splinter gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. "Now, would you kindly put the weapons away in here?"

"Of course, sensei." Leonardo bowed, a bit formally as usual, and began picking up the weapons and racks.

Splinter headed back to the kitchen. Michelangelo was rummaging through the kitchen, looking for lunch items. Rocky sat disinterestedly on his barrel next to Donatello, who was holding a package of frozen peas against the side of his face. Splinter asked, "How do you feel, my son?"

"OK." Donatello smiled a bit. "Well, except for having frozen goods on my face."

Splinter smiled and turned to Rocky. "What did Bebop's lawyer tell you?"

Rocky frowned. "Um, she said she was real happy to hear from me. Said I'm his best shot at gettin' 'im off early. They don't got a date set for the hearing yet, but she said she'd call me when they do." He looked a bit sheepish. "Um, I gave her the number of dat cell. Is that OK?"

"Most assuredly. It is in April's name, but we do keep it down here at all times. If you are not here when she phones, we will of course relay the message to you."

Rocky breathed a heavy sigh. "I ain't lookin' forward to it. I...don't like...bein' in front of a lot o' people."

"Because you're a mutant?" asked Donatello.

Shrugging, Rocky said, "Well, yeah, but I weren't crazy 'bout it none before, neither." Smirking, Rocky put his hands behind his head. "Back when I was in school, there was a mix-up in the schedulin' or somethin', and I ended up in debate class. God, I hated that class - standin' in front of everybody, talkin' 'bout stuff I didn't know nuttin' about. I dropped it as quick as I could."

"You went to school?"

"Well, duh!"

Shaking his head, Donatello said, "You're right. Duh. It's just...I've always wanted to go to school." He looked at Rocky, almost wistfully. "You're so lucky - it must have been really fun."

Rocksteady looked at Donatello like he had lost his mind, but before he could say anything, Splinter interrupted. "I am happy you told me about your...reluctance to speak in front of people. It may prove helpful in finding you a job - we will be sure to avoid any job that involves much human interaction. Although I believe that was our goal in any case."

"You really think this is gonna work? Me gettin' a job, I mean?"

"I have faith that we can find you employment. I cannot guarantee that it will be the job you've always wanted to have." Splinter smiled. "If you had any aspirations to be a fashion model, I would abandon those now."

Rocky snorted. "Now you're makin' fun o' me."

"I am merely making light of your predicament," said Splinter. "I often make light of serious situations. It is something we do to help us through the difficult times. I hope you can forgive me for it." He bowed slightly, but Rocky remained somewhat peeved.

"Well, what kinda job ya think I'm gonna get?"

"That I do not know, Rocksteady. We now have a few people making inquiries, and hopefully we will hear something soon. Until then, you can but remain patient. And we should continue working on your interviewing skills."

Rocky grumbled, "Yeah, God knows I need it."

April ran into the Channel 6 offices. "Is Mr Thompson gonna kill me?" she asked Irma, dropping her briefcase to the floor.

"Well, you're kinda late, but since Vern hasn't shown up yet, I doubt anyone will care." Irma handed April her daily mail. "Where've you been?"

"Three guesses."

"Really?" Irma sniffed the air. "I can't tell."

"Thank Febreze," April said, smiling, flipping through her mail. Absently, she asked, "You all settled in your new place yet?"

"God, don't bring that up," said Irma, rolling her eyes. "Most of my life - or what passes for my life - still packed in cardboard boxes. And the move was a nightmare."

"How come?"

"Moving company was slow, with a capital 'slow'. Nice enough guys - a couple o' real hunks. But it took them forever."

April tossed a few unasked-for solicitations in the trash. "You think they were trying to gouge you?"

Reluctantly, Irma said, "Wellll, I don't think so. They said they were really short-handed. They'd had several folks quit on them or something."

"Well, you can't really blame them, I guess." April picked up her briefcase. "I'm going down the hall to grab a bagel - haven't had time for lunch. If Vern comes, let them know I'll be right there, OK?"

"Got it." Irma got back to typing up the press release, but then April unexpectedly came back.

"I'm sorry - you said your moving company was short-handed?"

Irma frowned. "Well, that's what they said."

"What company was it?"

"Roosevelt Moving & Storage. You gonna run a story on them?"

"No, just...checking." April smacked her hand lightly on Irma's desk. "Thanks." She headed back down the hall, and Irma watched her go, confused.


	11. XI

April spotted a parking space right in front of Roosevelt Moving and Storage, and let out her breath. She wasn't expecting to get so close, and was obsessing about Rocky having to walk a block or so up to the building. She maneuvered the van into the space, then threw the van into "park". She looked over at Rocky, who was lightly pounding his fists together. "Are you ready?"she asked, and Rocky only nodded in response, not even glancing over. He's terrified, she thought.

"You've got to relax," she said quietly.

Rocky sighed. "I'm tryin'."

"Look, it isn't the end of the world. You go in, you might get a job, or you might not."

"It's just...well, nobody wants a freak like me."

April frowned. "You're still upset about what happened at the recycling center, aren't you? They had a good reason for turning you down - they hire union guys."

Rocky growled and fidgeted in his seat. "Well, they didn't have to be such jerks..."

Reaching over, April put her hand on his shoulder, and Rocky spun to face her with a look somewhere between surprise and alarm. "Look," she said. "Splinter's right. You've got to put that behind you. Forget it. Move on."

Rocky closed his eyes, sighed, then nodded. "OK." Picking up the folder in his lap, he opened the door to the van. "Uh, you'll be here when I get back out, right?"

April smiled. "You bet."

Rocky grinned, got out of the van, and slammed the door shut. Turning to face the entrance of Roosevelt Moving and Storage, he snorted. I ain't afraid of you, he thought, and walked through the door.

The man behind the counter looked up, and his jaw dropped. "Holy..." he muttered.

Mentally, Rocky went through his list. Slight smile, open hands, down by side, look friendly. "Hi," he said. "Is, uh..." Quickly Rocky looked down at his folder, then back up. "...Felipe here?"

Blinking, the man gaped at Rocky. "Uh...yeah. I mean, I think so. I gotta check. Who should I say is...?"

"My name's Rocky. I hear he's lookin' for some new movers?"

"Oh. OK." The man paused a second, then got to his feet. "Let me just...see if he's here." He quickly shuffled off to a back room, where Rocky heard him talking excitedly to somebody, presumably Felipe. Stay calm, Rocky thought to himself. You knew they were going to get excited, so stay calm. The man leaned back into the main room and looked uncertainly at Rocky. "Um, yeah, you on back?" Rocky smiled a bit wider. He made his way around the counter and into the back room.

The back room wasn't that big - maybe fifteen feet square, which of course made Rocky look even bigger than he was. Felipe was shoved behind a desk, with loads of paperwork and folders on top. Glancing up, he quietly said, "Oh, my God."

"Hi, Felipe?" Felipe nodded once, and Rocky went on. "My name's Rocky. Rocky Rodriguez." He decided against offering his hand - it was kind of a reach across the desk, and Felipe still looked a bit shell-shocked. "I hear you're lookin' for movers?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, we're kinda short now..." Felipe looked around helplessly. "You...wanna sit down?" he asked, pointing to the chair opposite his desk.

Rocky looked at the chair and decided against it. "Nah, better not. Might not be strong enough to hold me." Instead, as he'd practiced, he went down on one knee. "I think I'd make a good mover," he went on, eagerly. "I ain't never been a mover before, but I'm a hard worker, an' I'm reliable, an'...well, I'm pretty strong."

"Yeah, yeah, no doubt." Felipe finally gave in to temptation and stared straight at Rocky. "So...what's your deal?"

Stay calm, thought Rocky. You knew this was coming. "Oh, you mean how I look? Well, I got mutated not long ago..."

"Mutated?"

"Yeah. My human..." It took a second, but Rocky did manage to retrieve the right abbreviation. "...DNA got mixed up with some other animal's. A rhino's, obviously. And, well, it's kinda taken me some time to to grips with it."

"Yeah, I can imagine..."

Rocky handed him a piece of paper. "Just so you know why there ain't no job history recently." Flipping through his folder, he found another sheet of paper, which he handed over to Felipe. "And here's a list of references. I only put on folks who know me, y'know, afterwards, since, well...I ain't quite the same."

"Afterwards?" repeated Felipe. "Oh, you mean after you..."

Grinning slightly, Rocky said, "...mutated, yeah." He sighed a bit. "A lot o' stuff changes when you get fr...when you mutate."

"Yeah, no doubt," Felipe said again. Looking over at Rocky critically, he said, "You get along with people?"

Rocky wasn't ready for that question. "Uh...sorta. Sometimes people get freaked out when they see me, and, y'know, I don't like that much. But it's OK, us'ally."

Felipe suddenly looked very curious. "And how strong are you, exactly?"

Shrugging, Rocky said. "Dunno. Never lifted weights or nothin'."

Felipe suddenly grinned. "Let's find out. C'mon." He stood up, and led Rocky out to the back. There were a few movers getting ready to head out on a job, but they stopped and gaped as Felipe and Rocky came out the back door. Felipe walked around, scanning the wooden crates and hand trucks scattered around the back. "There's gotta be something heavy here you can pick up. Hm."

"How 'bout this?"

Felipe turned at the sound of Rocky's voice, and stopped short. Rocky had grabbed the front of a small moving van, and had lifted it almost two feet off the ground. He grinned toothily as Felipe whistled. "I'll be damned."

(-----)

The mutants were sitting watching Michelangelo finish mixing the coleslaw for lunch when Rocky walked in, smiling. Michelangelo returned the smile. "Good news?"

"Uh, I think so. Guy seemed real nice an' all. Says he's gonna call me next week."

Splinter bowed slightly. "Indeed, the best news we have yet heard."

Raphael grinned and added, "Now all they have to worry about now is getting a shirt in your size."

Rocky frowned a bit, then saw Splinter smile. Raphael was just joking around - no reason to get mad. He smiled back, briefly, then took a seat on his barrel. In doing so, he bumped the counter somewhat, causing the plates to jump. The turtles hardly noticed - they were getting used to that - but Splinter seemed somewhat concerned by it. He listened in silence as his sons and Rocky chatted over lunch, deep in thought. As the meal reached its close, he announced, "If you will prepare to begin your studies, I wish to have a word with Rocksteady." The turtles filed out, as Rocky wondered what he might have done wrong.

Once they were alone, Splinter said, "I would like to invite you to join our morning tai chi exercises."

Confused, Rocky said, "Tai...oh, that's that slow karate stuff you do early in the morning, right?" Seeing Splinter bow slightly in agreement, he waved it away. "Nah, that's OK. Thanks, though."

Splinter pressed on. "I...believe it would be most beneficial for you."

"Wha-? How come?"

"Well, it would appear that that you might be employed by a moving company soon." Rocky nodded, and Splinter went on. "So think. What are the qualities of a good mover?"

"A good mover?" Rocky thought. "Well, if they're strong like me, they can move more stuff."

"Correct. And what else?" Splinter prompted.

"Hm." Rocky stuck out his tongue in concentration. "Uh, you gotta work cheap?"

Splinter smiled and shook his head. "I will give you a counter-example. April works with a woman named Irma, who recently moved to a new apartment. April said the move went fairly well, except it was somewhat slower than Irma had expected, and that they had broken a few of her bowls."

"Uh-huh. So?"

"So consider. People will be entrusting you with their possessions. Do you feel you enough to move these things safely?"

Rocky's brow furrowed, and he growled. "So now you're sayin' I'm too klutzy to be a mover."

"Do not move my words beyond their meaning, Rocksteady," Splinter said, in what was, for him, almost a warning voice. Rocky sighed, and Splinter went on. "Consider. How many times have you bumped your head on the doorway? Struck your side against the counter? Stubbed your toe on the entryway?"

"Yeah, yeah..."

"And yet, hopefully, you will soon be moving people's most prized possessions. If you prove as...uncoordinated in your job as you are down here, I fear that you may not be employed by them for long."

Rocky sighed. "OK. So maybe I am a klutz. So what do I do? Call Felipe an' tell him never mind?"

"That would be a bit extreme, I think. First off, simply by making you aware of a potential problem, I believe we may have averted it somewhat. Hopefully, if you get the job, you'll be more aware of what you're doing, and more careful when you do it."

Rocky considered. Yeah, he could be careful if he wanted to. "Yeah, I guess."

"Which brings me again to tai chi. It is a martial art with a heavy emphasis on body awareness. I believe you might benefit immeasurably from it."

Sighing again, Rocky said, "Yeah, well, if ya think it'll help any. I guess I can get up that early."

The spirit may have been willing - or at least easily swayed - but the flesh was weak. It took three tries (and a light bop on his snout) to get him up early the next morning. But eventually, he stood in the dojo behind the turtles, bleary-eyed and yawning.

"You are prepared, Rocksteady?" Rocky just nodded dumbly, and Splinter sighed. He had hoped he could teach Rocky as the same time he observed his students, but it was becoming apparent that teaching Rocky was going to take all his attention. "Leonardo?" he asked, and Leonardo stepped forward and bowed. "Would you lead your brothers in tai chi?"

"I would be honored, sensei," said Leonardo. Raphael quietly rolled his eyes, but all three of Leonardo's brothers bowed to him as he took Splinter's position at the front of the dojo. Leonardo returned the bow, then put his back to them and began the tai chi routine, with the others falling into step behind him.

Splinter walked around them to meet Rocky. "We will work back here," he said in a friendly but quiet voice. "Let us begin, and see if we can improve your body awareness."

What followed was the biggest test of Splinter's patience that he had yet faced. Rocky proved himself to be an even worse student at tai chi than he was at his "real life" lessons. Once Splinter finally got him to figure out what to do with his hands, he forgot what to do with his feet. Several times, Rocky walked to the back of the dojo and pounded his fists against the wall in frustration. The turtles, who had finished their tai chi and had moved on to sparring, would look up in alarm, then look back at their sparring partners. After one particularly hard pounding, Splinter began to worry about the structual integrity of the dojo, and pleaded with Rocky to have patience.

To their credit, neither Rocky nor Splinter ever gave up, but come lunchtime, Rocky had only somewhat learned the opening sequence. The turtles, finished with their sparring for the morning, watched as he went through it yet again, in a very stilted fashion. Raphael smirked and whispered to Donatello, who was closest, "It's just like Footloose." Donatello smiled, but Raphael's mean comment gave him an idea.

He walked up and said, "Hey, uh, Rocky?"

Rocky set his teeth. "You come to laugh at how klutzy I am?"

"No. You ever, y'know, go out dancing?"

"Wha-?"

"You know - ever go dancing?"

Snorting, Rocky said, "Where the hell would I go dancing?"

"Not even before?"

"So I didn't go out much..."

Michelangelo, seeing where this was headed, added, "Not even up in your room?" Michelangelo put his hands in front of him and shifted from side to side, in a simple two-step dance. "When no one else was lookin'?"

Rocky said, "Look, maybe I did, but why the hell do you care, anyhow?"

Donatello smiled a bit. "Well, tai chi's like dancing. But slow. Look." He put himself in the opening position, and moved stiffly into each of the next positions in turn, much like Rocky had done earlier. As he did so, he said, "See, you're getting the positions right, but the positions...well, they aren't really as important as how you get there."

"Right," agreed Michelangelo. He began dancing again, but this time, much more stiffly. "See, it ain't the steps, it's the motion."

Rocky snorted again, but took the opening position again, and began working his way through the sequence, much smoother than before.

"Yes! That's it, Rocksteady," said Splinter.

Rocky paused at the end of the sequence. "It is?"

"Yeah, ya got it!" Michelangelo began applauding, and the other turtles joined in. Rocky looked both embarassed and pleased.

"Excellent work. However, it is time for lunch. Rocksteady, if you wish to take a shower beforehand...?"

"Yeah, shower sounds good. Almost as good as lunch." He walked out of the dojo, grinning.

Splinter turned to Donatello and Michelangelo. "And you, my sons, thank you for my lesson." He bowed low to them.

Donatello and Michelangelo looked at each other, somewhat surprised and embarassed. Donatello said, "Um, it was just an idea, sensei."

"All solutions begin with ideas, my sons. And yours was an excellent one."


	12. XII

"The office will be contacting you tomorrow about submitting a claim." Hank, the foreman of the team, touched a finger to his cap. "Thanks a lot, and enjoy your new home."

As the door closed, the movers headed back to their vehicles, idly chatting among themselves. Rocky walked a bit faster, as usual, and got to the van first. Suddenly, to the surprise of everyone, he loudly slammed his forehead against the corner of the van. To their greater surprise, he didn't leave a mark on the van or his forehead.

"God, I am such a klutz," he moaned.

The other movers looked at each other uncomfortably. None of them had gotten to know Rocky all that well, and no one really knew what to say. Finally, Jim said, "Hey, man, relax."

Rocky turned his back to the van, leaned against it, tilted his head back and closed his eyes. "I shoulda seen that vase. Felipe's gonna kill me."

Jim grinned at the thought of Felipe, who weighed about one twenty soaking wet, attempting to kill Rocky. "Nah, he ain't gonna kill ya. This stuff happens."

"Yeah," added Mick. "You been working here - what? Four months? And you ain't broken anywhere near as much stuff as Danny." Danny took a punch at Mick, who jumped out of the way, smiling.

"Don't worry 'bout it," agreed Hank. "It's a small thing. They'll submit a claim, and insurance will pay for it. Just be more careful next time, K?"

Rocky nodded glumly, then walked over to the pick-up. No vehicle was really big enough to seat him comfortably, so Rocky had taken to riding to and from moving assignments in the back of Hank's pick-up. If there were no seats left in the vans or the pick-up cab, any extra movers would end up in the back with Rocky, none of whom looked as if they really enjoyed it. Rocky wasn't sure if it was because they didn't like riding back there with him, or because they didn't like riding back there at all. Splinter told him not to obsess about it.

After climbing into the pick-up bed, he saw Jim about to get in with him. Rocky smiled slightly - he liked Jim, even if they weren't really friends or anything. Rocky held out his hand to help Jim in, and they sat down with their backs against the cab. Hank began the drive back toward the city. Jim watched as passers-by stared and pointed at Rocky, who kept his eyes down. God, he thought, being a mutant must suck big time.

When they hit the next red light, and it was a bit quieter, Jim said, "Hey, you busy tonight?"

Rocky looked at Jim. He couldn't remember ever being busy any night. "Huh-uh," he muttered, looking back down at his hands in his lap.

"Well, y'know, the Giants are playing tonight, and a bunch of my friends 'n' me were gonna meet up at Ocelot's 'n' watch the game." Jim took a breath and thought, well, no backing out now. "Ya wanna join us?"

The truck had taken off again, and Rocky couldn't be sure he heard what he thought he heard. "What?"

"Did you wanna join us?" repeated Jim, somewhat louder.

Rocky mulled the idea over. He hadn't been anywhere but work and the lair...geez, forever. It'd be great to get out for once. Plus, he hadn't seen a TV, let alone a football game, in eons. But the thought of going out in public unnerved him. When he was at work, he sort of had a built-in security blanket - he was there to do a job, after all - but just hanging out seemed different. And as much as Splinter told him to ignore the stares, and not listen to the whispered comments, he couldn't help it.

"Um," he finally said. "I dunno. I...gotta check on some stuff..."

"That's cool," said Jim, somewhat relieved. "Game starts at nine, but we were gonna be there around eight, have dinner 'n' all that. If you've got the time, stop by, 'K?"

"Yeah," said Rocky, still pondering. "Yeah, OK."

"You know where Ocelot's is?"

"Oh, yeah, sure. That's just down the street."

The pickup pulled over to the side of the street, next to the alleyway. Rocky had told his co-workers that it was "easier" for him to get into his home through the alleyway, but of course, he hadn't gone into detail.

Rocky climbed out of the pick-up, and Jim said, "Eight o'clock."

"'K. Got it." The pick-up began pulling away before Rocky remembered his manners. "Uh, thanks!" he shouted after Jim, who waved back at him. Rocky then hurried down the alley to the manhole, looked around worriedly, then slid the cover off. Quickly, he began his descent, tucking his chin down to avoid bumping his snout against the edge of the manhole. Once he was inside, he replaced the cover, then pulled his flashlight out of his backpack and grasped it tight - he'd already ruined one by dropping it down into the sluice. He carefully made his way back to the lair, lost in thought.

It was still somewhat early in the afternoon, and the mutants were deep in study. Donatello was trying to help Raphael over some rough ground in algebra, Leonardo was slogging his way through Shakespeare, and Splinter was teaching Michelangelo the causes of the Civil War - a topic he was pretty much learning along with him. All five looked up as Rocky entered the lair one room away, both somewhat surprised to see him, and rather grateful for the opportunity to take a quick break.

"You're back early," noted Leonardo.

Rocky leaned into the room, frowning. "Yeah, well, it went pretty quick."

Donatello noted the frown. "You don't seem too happy about it."

Sighing, Rocky said, "I broke something again."

"Something big?" asked Donatello.

"Aw, it was this glass...vase...thing. It ain't that big or expensive or nothin', but..." He closed his eyes. "Darnit, if I'd just looked before I set that stuff down..."

Splinter smiled slightly. "Rocksteady, you remember what I told you about obsessing?" Rocky sighed and nodded, so Splinter went on. "What has been done has been done. Make a note of it, learn from it, and move on." In a way, Splinter was pleased to see Rocky taking his job so seriously. It was a definite change from his attitude when he first arrived at the lair.

"Yeah, well, I'll try. Oh, an' the other guys're gettin' more friendly, which is pretty cool." He grinned. "Jim even asked me to go watch the Giants game at Ocelot's tonight. Cool, huh?"

"Yeah, I should say," Michelangelo agreed. "You gonna go?"

"Wha-? I can't just go."

"Why not?"

"Well, duh! 'cause everyone's just gonna stare at me!"

Splinter shook his head. "Rocksteady, you cannot avoid doing things simply because people will stare. People will stare at you whatever you do, simply because you look different. This is something you must learn to accept."

Rocky sighed. "I...don't like people starin' at me..."

"That is quite understandable," Splinter went on. "But the only way to avoid people staring is to stay in your room for the rest of your life. And I don't believe that is how you wish to live your life."

"Don't you want to go?" asked Michelangelo, after a long pause.

"Well, yeah. I like the Giants, and I ain't seen football in...God, forever."

"Then go!" Michelangelo grinned. "Take some of that money you've been saving up and treat yourself to a night out."

Michelangelo's enthusiasm was contagious. Grinning, Rocky said, "Ya know what? I think I deserve a night out." He lightly pounded the counter with his fist. "Awright, I'll go!"

Leonardo added, "Just...if all your friends want to swing by your place after the game?" He smiled and shook his head. "No."

Rocky's grin grew wider, and he gave Leonardo a thumbs-up. "Got it."

* * *

Rocky waited until a quarter after eight before he left for Ocelot's. The thought of potentially showing up before Jim, waiting around alone in a booth, with everyone gawking - that really unnerved him. Rocky stayed in the alleyway, out of the streetlights, until the street looked somewhat deserted, and then quickly shuffled out. The second he hit the sidewalk, a very strange feeling engulfed him. For a minute, he couldn't place it, but it finally hit him - he hadn't just walked down a street since that night he met up with Raphael. Wow, he thought, that feels like years ago. At first, he felt depressed thinking back to that night, when he had seriously asked someone to kill him. But slowly a smile played across Rocky's face. He'd come a long way since then. Thinking about the strides he had made got him happy, and he hardly noticed the stares and whispered comments around him.

He reached the front door of Ocelot's, pulled the door open and stepped inside. It was getting fairly crowded, like it always did on Monday evenings when a New York team was playing. Every set was tuned to the pre-game, and most people's eyes were glued to the sets. As Rocky stood at the entrance, trying to spot Jim, more and more people turned away from the screens and towards him. Before anyone could say anything, though, he spied Jim in a far booth. Grinning, he made his way past the other patrons to the far corner.

"Hey-a," he said to Jim.

"Rocky! You made it!" Jim indicated other end of the booth. Rocky had to move the table slightly, but he managed to squeeze himself in. Once he was installed, Jim introduced the other two guys at the table. "This is Jake and Spike. Guys, this is Rocky." Rocky grinned, mouth closed, and sort of waved at the others.

Jake said, "Geez, you weren't kiddin' - he is a big 'un."

Spike gaped. "Yeah. What are ya - part rhino?"

Rocky nodded, "Yeah. It's...kinda long story." Looking down, he added, "An' I don't really like talkin' 'bout it."

Jake held up his hands. "OK, cool."

There was a long uncomfortable pause, which Rocky finally broke. "Um, so, it's been kind of a long time since I kept up with th' Giants. Does their defense still suck?"

Everyone at the table laughed. Spike said, "Dude, the names change, but the game's the same. No defense."

The three humans spent the rest of the pre-game filling Rocky in on what he'd missed over the last few years. Once the game began, the conversation grew more and more infrequent, with almost all of it confirming points they'd discussed before. Even though New York was losing, Rocky was having a great time. Watching the game and chatting with fellow fans - he hadn't felt so relaxed, so _normal_, since his mutation.

Midway through the third quarter, a lousy call by the referee sent a chorus of shouts, boos and profanity throughout the bar. One patron, brave and foolish, chose this moment to show his support for the opposition. His neighbor, a Giants fanatic, took exception, and registered his displeasure by slugging him across his jaw. Immediately the two guys were at each other's throats, and the entire bar stopped booing the ref and began cheering the fight.

Rocky felt his heart drop. Even though he had nothing to do with this at all, he felt panicky. The cops would probably end up getting called in, and somehow, they were gonna pin this all on him. Then he'd be in jail, just like Bebop. Forget it - he wasn't going to jail because some drunk idiots wanted to fight about a football game. Rocky stood up and strode over to the melee, pushing a few people aside. When he got to the combatants, he merely put a hand on the back of their collars, pulled them apart, then began dragging them towards the exit. One managed a weak "Hey!" before Rocky had reached the door. Rocky kicked the door open with his bare foot, and shoved them both out. When Rocky turned back to the bar, he wasn't surprised to see nobody challenging him, but he _was_ shocked to see several people applauding. Slowly, the grin returned to Rocky's face.

"Way to go!" yelled one, and Rocky gave him a thumbs-up sign.

"Hey, rhino man!" Rocky looked over at the bartender, who waved him over. Rocky was pretty sure he knew what was in store - he was getting kicked out. Resigned, he walked over to the bar and hung his head.

"Hey, man, thanks a lot for taking care of those guys for me," said the bartender. "Lemme get you something. What are you drinking?"

"Wha'?" Rocky hadn't been expecting anything like that. "Oh. Um, Coors. Thanks!"

"Hey, it's the least I can do." The bartender opened a bottle, and as he passed it across, he added, "You hungry?"

Dumb question - Rocky couldn't remember the last time he hadn't been hungry. "Sure."

"I'll have 'em send a burger over, too." Suddenly his eyes lit up. "Listen, you ain't looking for a job now, are you?"

Rocky shrugged. "I kinda got one now. How come?"

"My brother's opening a place down the road, and he's been looking for a bouncer. At least he was. Is that...something you'd be interested in?"

Rocky paused and considered. A bouncer, huh? Well, he wouldn't have to worry about breaking anything but the clients' heads, anyway. "Yeah, kinda. Sure."

The bartender grinned and grabbed the phone. He dialed a number, sat for a few seconds staring at the TV, then spoke. "Dave? It's Bob. You still lookin' for a bouncer for your place?...Dude, I've got the perfect guy...no, he's right here...hold on." He handed the phone to Rocky.

Rocky put it to his ear, and hoped he could be heard over the din of the place. Putting his finger to his other ear, he said "Hello?"

"Hi, this is Dave - who's this?"

"Rocky."

"Well, Rocky, my brother says you'd make one hell of a bouncer."

"Um..." Rocky thought about it. "Yeah, I think I would."

"You've never done any bouncing before?"

"Nah, but I'm pretty sure I can handle it."

"Hm. Well, we better have you come down and we can talk about it. Is Wednesday good for you?"

Rocky tried to remember his schedule. Yeah, Wednesday was clear. "Sure."

"OK, swing by here Wednesday at around ten a.m. I'm opening a place across from Wingnuts. You know where that is?"

"Yep."

"Great. We won't be open yet, but just bang on the door, and someone will let you in."

"Wow, this is great. Thanks a lot, Mr...um..."

Dave laughed. "Just call me Dave. See you Wednesday then."

"Sure thing! Thanks!" Rocky passed the phone back to the bartender, accepted a freshly opened bottle from him, and headed back to the table, grinning. Wow, them turtles was right, he thought. This wasn't turning out bad at all.

* * *

Rocky got back to the lair after everyone was asleep, so it wasn't until lunchtime the next day that he got to tell everyone the news. As he guessed, Splinter and the turtles were quite pleased.

"A bouncer," considered Michelangelo. "Yeah, that might be a bit more suited to your...temperament."

"How full is your schedule for the next few days?" asked Splinter.

Rocky pulled out his beat-up schedule from his pocket. "I'm off 'til Thursday, actually."

"This is most ideal. It will give you ample time to prepare."

"Prepare? Prepare f'r what?"

"Have you ever been employed as a bouncer?"

"No, but so what? All ya gotta do is look mean and bust heads when people get outta hand."

Raphael smirked at that comment. "Really? How long you think you're gonna keep yer job that way?"

"Whaddayamean?"

Raphael put his fork down, rubbed his chin, and thought for a few seconds. "What's a bouncer supposed to do?"

"Kick people out."

"No, seriously. Why do clubs have bouncers?"

It was Rocky's turn to think. "Keep things kinda...calmed down. If things kinda get outta hand, they gotta take care of it."

"How?"

"Um...they break up the fight, get rid of the guys what're causin' it...and sorta get everything back to normal."

Splinter nodded. "Excellent. Now is this something you feel you are capable of?"

Shrugging, Rocky said, "Sure. That's kinda what I did at the bar today."

"All right, then," said Raphael. "Let's just give ya a quick test. Leo, you wanna help me out with this?" He stood up, and Leonardo joined him on the other side of the room. Raphael whispered a few words to Leonardo, who nodded. Suddenly, Raphael shoved Leonardo into the wall. "Listen, wuss - you just stay away from my girlfriend."

Leonardo, trying not to grin, shoved back. "She's not your girlfriend anymore, buddy. She's all mine now."

"In your dreams, pal." Raphael reached around and grabbed him. Leonardo instantly thought of three ways to break the hold, but figured it'd be a better test if they were still stuck together. However, he did try to push Raphael into the wall.

Rocky stood up and grabbed both of them by their shells, peeling them apart.

"Let go o' me, ya freak," yelled Raphael, aiming a kick at his shins. Angrily, Rocky tossed Raphael against the wall with a loud thud. Raphael managed to go limp and pull himself into his shell, so the damage was minimal. Immediately reemerging, he stood up and shook his head.

"Nope. Flag on the play."

"What?" said Rocky, rather oblivious to the fact that he still had Leonardo in a death grip. "You was kicking me!"

"That doesn't matter," said Leonardo, shaking himself free.

"My sons are correct, Rocksteady," said Splinter. "As a bouncer, your job will be to end the fight, without actually doing any fighting of your own."

Rocky crossed his arms and glared at Splinter. "Even if they start beatin' on me?"

"Especially if they start beating on you," said Raphael, dusting himself off a bit.

"Precisely so. Rocksteady, you are the last line of defense - you must never allow yourself to become embroiled in whatever argument breaks out."

"Great," Rocky groaned.

Michelangelo said, "No, dude, think about it. No matter how big these guys are, you know you're gonna be bigger. So it's not like they're gonna cause you any damage, no matter how they try to wail on ya."

"Hm."

Raphael sat back down at the table, with Leonardo in tow. "Looks like we'll have to work in some bouncer practice for you. Don't worry - we'll have you ready by Wednesday."


	13. XIII

Rocky wondered if he had the right address. Actually, he wondered if he had been the victim of some joke. The outside of the building hadn't been done up yet, and it looked almost abandoned. It was pretty large, though - it took up almost half the city block. Well, I came all this way, thought Rocky. Wouldn't hurt to at least check it out. Resigned, Rocky walked up to the main door and knocked.

It took a while before someone opened the door and peeked out. It was a woman, wearing ripped jeans and a Harley T-shirt. She looked at Rocky with a mixture of confusion and alarm. "We're not open yet."

"I know. I'm s'posed to see Dave...?"

"Wh'? What for?"

"Um, I was s'posed to see 'im 'bout the bouncer job?"

"Oh! You're...Rocky?"

Rocky grinned slightly. "Yeah."

"Oh, sorry. Yeah, he's in back. Come on in." She opened the door wide, and Rocky ducked his head and entered. She started to lead him through the building, but Rocky stopped to stare at the layout. There were no fewer than three bars, each in the process of getting fully stocked. There was a main stage, and two smaller ones to the sides, along with plenty of chairs and tables. Rocky tried to picture the place open. Rock club? No...

The woman looked back at him, confused. Rocky looked back at her. "Um, what kinda place is this?"

"It'll be a gentleman's club."

"A gentleman's...?" Rocky looked at the stages, the chairs, the bars, and then it hit him. A strip club! He was applying for a job in a strip club!

"Didn't you know?" asked the woman.

"Nah, but it's cool! It's cool. I just...I dunno. Wasn't thinkin'."

The woman smiled. "Let me go get Dave." She walked into the offices in back as Rocky absently watched a guy stock the nearest bar. The man slowed his work considerably, as he found having a seven-foot rhino supervising him somewhat unnerving. Rocky's thoughts were elsewhere, though. A strip club! he thought. This'll be so cool!

An older, balding man wearing a shirt and tie emerged from the back room. Upon seeing Rocky, he whistled. "Well, looking like that, you better be Rocky!"

Rocky turned to look at him, grinning. "Yeah. Are you Dave?"

"You bet," the man replied. Rocky stuck out his hand, and cautiously, Dave shook it. "My brother says you spared him a bit of trouble on Monday."

"Yeah, well, a couple guys got to fightin'..." Rocky trailed off.

"And you jumped in and stopped them? That was mighty good of you."

Rocky shrugged. "I dunno if it was good or nothin'. I just didn't want there to be any trouble."

Dave smiled. "That's exactly what I'm looking for here. I want the Kitty Kat Klub to be the best gentleman's club in town, and a place like this runs at its best when there's a minimum of trouble. So let's give you a try." He leaned around Rocky and yelled towards the bar at the other end of the building. "Sam! Sarah! Come give me a hand a second, will ya?" Two people who were helping stock the bars dropped what they were doing and came over. "Rocky, this is Sam, the head bartender, and Sarah, one of our entertainers. This is Rocky - he's looking to be our head security." Rocky smiled, mouth closed, and offered his hand. Both Sam and Sarah reluctantly held out their own, and Rocky carefully shook each one. "I need to do a quick test on Rocky. Sarah, can you hop on stage and pretend you're on? And Sam, can you rush her?"

Sarah walked over and stepped onto the stage, but Sam stayed where he was. "What's he gonna do to me?"

Rocky smiled again. "Don't worry. I ain't gonna hurt ya none."

Slowly, but without taking his eyes off of Rocky, Sam approached the stage. Sarah began moving back and forth, half-singing to herself. Sam shook his head, gritted his teeth, and then jumped up onto the runway with her. Rocky quietly stepped over to the edge of the runway, leaned between them, and put his right index fingertip against Sam's chest. Slowly, but firmly, he began increasing the pressure. Sam suddenly stepped back, and Rocky spun his hand slowly so he was pushing Sam both away from Sarah and off the stage. Sam tried pushing against the pressure, and then slipping away from it, but finally he gave in to the inevitable, and leapt off of the stage.

Rocky turned to Dave. "So, do they get a warnin' or somethin', or do I just toss 'im at that point?"

Dave just stared. "What did you do?"

Rocky looked confused. "Nothin'. Jus' this." He put his fingertip on Dave and pushed slightly.

Dave turned to Sam. "And that made you back off?"

Sam rubbed his chest. "You kiddin'? I might have a mark there tomorrow."

Turning back to Rocky, Dave scratched his head. "Why'd you do it that way?"

Rocky shrugged, feeling uneasy. Had he done something wrong? "It's quiet. An' simple And it kinda lets the guy know I got lots in reserve. Um, if you want me to do it some other way..."

"No, no, that's actually idea. Actually, it's even smoother than I could've hoped." Hank sort of frowned. "But what if you're…provoked it some way?"

"You're afraid I'll lose it?" asked Rocky.

"Well, yeah."

Rocky waved that away. "Look, I got in plenty o' scrapes when I was younger. I'm…kinda over all that now." He thought of Michelangelo. "One o'...one o' my friends sez that once ya know ya can win a fight, there's no need t' fight no more. An'...that's the way I try to keep it."

"Sounds like a smart friend."

"Yeah."

"You working now?"

"Yeah, part-time. Roosevelt Moving an' Storage."

"You looking for fulltime work?"

"You bet!"

Dave looked askance at Rocky. "You're willing to leave your current place?"

Rocky shrugged. "They only got me on part-time. As long as I work out the next two weeks, it'll be cool."

"Well, we don't open for another three weeks, but I think we can get you on board by that time to help set up." Dave held out his hand, and Rocky clasped it. "Welcome aboard. We'll need to take care of your paperwork, but I'm a bit swamped right now..."

"Dave!" Someone yelled from the office door. "Phone call! It's your mother!"

"OK! Be right there!" Dave turned back to Rocky. "That's one phone call you gotta take, right?" he asked rhetorically, smiling.

"Yeah," agreed Rocky. He didn't look that convinced, though.

"About the paperwork. Can you come back tomorrow morning?"

"Um..." Rocky considered. "Yeah, early on. I gotta be at work at eleven."

"OK. We'll see you here around ten?" Rocky nodded, and Dave said, "Excellent. See you then."

"You bet. Thanks a lot!" Rocky shook his hand again, then watched him head towards the back, wondering why he was feeling so weird.

* * *

Casey peeked around the corner. "Pizza delivery!"

Michelangelo looked up and grinned. "The two most beautiful words in the English language. C'mon in!"

Casey walked in, with April right behind, and handed the four pizza boxes to Michelangelo. "No goofy flavors. Anything weird you gotta add yourself."

Raphael snorted. "Well, just 'cause you won't try something different..."

"Your toppings aren't different," argued Casey, smiling. "They're just plain wrong."

As Michelangelo arranged the pizza boxes on the counter, Rocky entered the kitchen. April smiled at him. "Hey. I hear congratulations are in order."

"Yeah," said Rocky. "Looks like I'll be startin' in a couple weeks." He wasn't exactly frowning, but he didn't seem overly excited either. It appeared to go unnoticed among the turtles and humans, but Splinter kept looking over at Rocky with a small frown during the small pizza party.

After the pizza was gone, and April and Casey had said their goodbyes, the turtles began washing up. Rocky was about to see if he could help when Splinter asked to have a word with him. As Splinter led him back to his room, Rocky wondered what they were going to talk about. Probably he's gonna try to get me pumped up about this job, he decided. Once they reached his room, Splinter sat down, lit a few candles, then considered his boarder, who sat cross-legged in front of him, eyes cast down.

"Something appears to be bothering you, Rocksteady," said Splinter, quietly. Rocky shrugged slightly, and Splinter pressed the point. "Are you not happy? Is there something you wish to discuss?"

Rocky looked at the lit candles, in an attempt to avoid eye contact. "It's…I dunno..."

"You are happy with your new job offer?"

"Oh, yeah. Definitely. It sounds cool."

"During dinner, we discussed you finding a different place to live. Do you find this worrisome?"

"N-no, not really," Rocky mumbled. "I mean, I like you guys good enough, but I'd...kinda like to live above ground, y'know?"

"Assuredly. No offense taken at all." Splinter smiled, then went on. "Everything is all right with Bebop?"

"Oh, yeah, he's cool. He still ain't happy 'bout bein' in jail 'n' all, but he's lookin' forward to gettin' out."

"And yet, something appears to be disquieting you." Again Rocky shrugged slightly, and appeared uncomfortable. Splinter put his hand on Rocky's knee, and said softly, "Whatever it is, please feel free to share your burden. You know that you may discuss anything with me, my son."

A small part of Rocky was somewhat surprised to be called "my son" by Splinter, but he was more surprised that it didn't bother him much. Sighing, Rocky said, "I dunno. It's...I been thinkin' 'bout Ma."

"Ma…oh, your mother?"

"Yeah."

Splinter, seeing how uncomfortable Rocky was, gently urged him on. "Please share your thought, my son."

"She's...I dunno why I started thinkin' 'bout it. Guy at the strip club - he jus' kinda mentioned his mom, and it got me thinkin'..."

"Yes?"

"I...weren't very nice to her, y'know? I kinda ran out on her when I was wit' da Foot. Never said 'bye' or nothin'." Rocky sighed and waved his hand. "It doesn't matter - that's all a long time ago. It don't matter now."

"It has not been so long that you cannot rectify the situation. Is your mother still alive?"

"Wha'? Well, yeah, 's far as I know..."

"Then why not contact her?"

Rocky's eyes went wide. "Wha'! I can't do that!"

"Why not?"

"'cause...'cause look at me!"

"Yes, you are now a mutant," said Splinter. "But despite that, would she not want to hear from you?"

"I..." Rocky considered. What would Ma think? "Aw, she wouldn't want to see me again. Not after the way I treated her."

Splinter smiled. "Never underestimate the love of a parent, Rocksteady. You can but try. Would you be willing to attempt to contact your mother again?"

Again, Rocky considered. "Yeah, I guess. But I can't just show up at home lookin' like this!"

"No, probably not." Splinter smiled. "But give us some time. Certainly we can find a way so that you may see your mother again."

* * *

Casey pulled his truck up to the apartment building, and turned to look at Splinter. "You gonna be a while?"

Splinter thought for a second. "We may not be long. Would you mind waiting?"

Putting the truck in park, Casey gave a rueful smile to Splinter. "You're determined to teach me patience, aren't ya?"

Splinter bowed his head slightly. "You indeed have done much for us, and I greatly appreciate it. If there is somewhere else you must go…"

"Nah, it's cool. I can hang here for a bit."

"Thank you, Casey." Splinter got out of the truck, and while waiting for Rocky to leap out of the bed, he spied a woman sitting at the small table on the front porch of the apartment complex. When Rocky joined him, he asked, "Is that she?"

Rocky screwed his eyes up and gave a small start. "Yeah, that's her."

"Excellent. You remember what to do, Rocksteady?" Rocky nodded. "Then let us go." Rocky fell into step behind Splinter, who walked up the sidewalk to the porch. "Mrs Rodriguez?" asked Splinter.

The woman on the porch stared at Splinter. "Yes. You're the one who called yesterday about my son?"

"Correct. My name is Hamato Yoshi," he said, bowing. Then turning slightly to Rocky, he added, "This is Rocksteady." Rocky bowed as well. "May I join you?"

"I...guess," she said, looking meaningfully at Rocky. Splinter sat at the table with her, but Rocky took a seat on the garden wall, much to Mrs Rodriguez's relief. "You know where my son is?"

"I do. Currently your son is staying with me," began Splinter.

"But why…why didn't you bring him with you?"

"In fact, he does wish to see you, Ms Rodriguez. But we felt it necessary to...prepare you. As I told you on the phone, your son has mutated since you saw him last. He no longer looks at all as you remember him."

"But why? What happened? What's he look like now?"

"He...looks like one of us," answered Splinter. "Part human, part animal. As to why, it was not something he was expecting. You can discuss that with him if you wish."

"So, how'm I recognize Robbie when I see him?" asked Mrs Rodriguez.

"You will not," said Splinter, simply. "And therefore, I would ask you to not look at his outward appearance when you see him again. Instead, look to the inside. Remember the Robbie that you knew before. That Robbie is still there, inside him." Splinter couldn't read Mrs Rodriguez's expression, so he went on. "I do want you to feel sure that, when we bring Robbie to see you, that you are certain that it is, in fact, your son. So I would ask you to think of some memories. Things from your past and Robbie's past. Things that only you and he would remember."

Mrs Rodriguez managed a small smile. "Just like the movies?"

Splinter returned the smile. "A bit."

"You really think I won't be able to recognize my son when I see him?"

"I'd say that was almost certain."

Mrs Rodriguez closed her eyes and sighed. "OK. Something from his past, then?"

"Yes. Something from when he was quite young. A friend, or a toy, or something he used to say?"

"Hm." Mrs Rodriguez thought. "Well, there was this stuffed animal he used to carry around a lot, but he was really young. Four or five, I think. I don't know if he'll remember it." She smiled slightly. "It was this small grey horse he used to take with him everywhere..."

"Cow," said Rocky, quietly.

Mrs Rodriguez, who had almost forgotten he was there, turned to face him. "I'm sorry - what did you say?"

"It weren't a horse - it was a cow. Mookle."

"Mookle," agreed Mrs Rodriguez. "And you're right, come to think of it. It was a cow. Now how on earth..." Suddenly, Mrs Rodriguez's eyes grew wide. "No," she said very quietly. After a short pause, she whispered, "Robbie?"

Rocky grinned lopsidedly. "Ma."

Mrs Rodriguez put her hand to her mouth. "Oh, my God," she said, louder. "Robbie!"

Rocky's grin grew more lopsided, and a tear rolled out of his eye. "Yeah, Ma, it's me."

Kicking her chair back, Mrs Rodriguez sprang to her feet, leapt forward, and put her arms around the seven-foot rhino in front of her. "Oh, Robbie..."

Rocky closed his eyes, gently put his arms around his mother, and didn't bother hiding the tears that sprang forth. "Oh, Ma, I'm so sorry..."

Splinter unobtrusively got to his feet, picked up his walking stick, and headed back to Casey's truck. He opened the door, got in, and closed the door behind him.

"Well," said Casey. "That didn't take long."

"No," agreed Splinter, putting on his seatbelt. "You can take me back to the lair now, if you wish."

"Don't you want to wait for him?"

Splinter glanced at Rocky, still hugging his mother. "I have a feeling they have a lot to discuss. Rocky can get back to the lair from here."

Casey shrugged, started the engine, and pulled out into the street. "You sure've done a lot for him."

"Yes. And perhaps he has done a lot for us as well."

"Really? How you mean?"

Splinter smiled. "It might surprise you to learn this, Casey, but we do not plan on living in the sewers for the rest of our lives."

Casey was, in fact, surprised. "Really?" he repeated. "You're looking to move out?"

"It would be extremely cruel to force my sons to live in the sewer system for their entire lives, when there's an entire world here for them to take part in."

Suddenly, Casey understood. "Oh! So Rocky..."

"Rocky, in many ways, has blazed a trail for us to follow. He has shown that yes, there is plenty of anti-mutant prejudice in the world above. But it is not insurmountable. A mutant can hold down a job, interact with others, and make his way in the world of humans. Admittedly, Rocky has size on his side - many people might act against someone smaller, when they would not do so against a much larger opponent. But we feel it is worth the risks. Hopefully, it will not be much longer before we begin following in his footsteps."

"Hm." Casey thought about this for a minute, then smiled. "Any chance of you getting your own truck soon?"

Again, Splinter smiled. "One of my first priorities will be obtaining a driver's license, and then purchasing a vehicle. After which, of course, you will be freed from your job as mutant chauffeur."

Casey laughed. "Just lemme know when you need a ride to the DMV!"


End file.
